Intoxicate the muses

Tonight, when the angels

come for me, I will fool them

into staying longer than expected.

I will give them wine

and tell them that it’s water

steal their wings when

their halos are misdirected.

It’s the only way

to get a good thing

from any angels sent to save you.

Because they know

nothing but the light

they think they live in,

angels don’t understand

what it means to

need forgiveness.

Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.

The trouble with poetry

(answering Billy Collins)


I realized after reading your poem

how small my fish tank is

and how I forget to care for it

on account of having to deal

with bankers who are real sharks.


I wish I had rabbits right now.

And knew enough to care for them.

And knew how to sell them

like your poetry book

that I have in my hands.


I know of your urges

and I have broken in tonight

to share with you

a memory of summer asphalt

cooled by a fire hydrant

spitting through a tin cylinder

knocking over laughing

children who never saw

a lighthouse or dewy grass.


I stole that from no one.


But I know what you mean

about secretly wanting an end.


Copyright © henry toromoreno, 2010. All rights reserved.