William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings


I’m a fictional character of my own making. I’ve lived this fiction all my life, adding to it one thought, one word, one sentence, one page at a time. And while it isn’t my intention to deceive, or to create a world of make-believe, by the very process of living I do create such a world. This is my reality. And a beautiful one it is, because it includes you — just as I imagine yours includes me, and that you understand how gratefully helpless I am.


This afternoon,
while riding home
from work
on bus number nine,
I began to see things
as they really are.
The ruts in the road
are not ruts,
but the protruding veins
of a bloated,
underground carcass.
The two-headed
blind woman
sitting next to me
as did the poodle
who said he’d known
for years and only
kept his mouth shut.
Later, at my stop,
I met an unborn child
thawing her dreams
over an imaginary fire
on the sidewalk.
She looked up, smiled,
gave me her blessing.

Collected Poems

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Categories: Collected Poems

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