Author: crow

I'm a writer and a dabbler. I live in Southern California.

Poem 20150809

crow

it isn’t as if
the future
–any of the potential futures–
depended on where
i placed the comma
or broke

the line

no wormhole opened up
when i changed a word
no future me or alternate reality me
stepped out
buffed up beyond belief
wearing an eyepatch
with a thin scar running
under it
from forehead to chin

to warn me
–not that metaphor
or
–why not a traditional meter

like i would have listened

i don’t owe them shit

let the future worlds
and alternate worlds
take their chances with my words

i take my chances with them
every time i type

Poem 20150808

crow

the tree so dry and gray
lacking its leaves and
far enough away that i can’t
identify it

not that i have a knack for that

rises up out of equally dry
grass only feet
from a running creek

its roots not long enough
to reach i guess
or not greedy enough
to put so much effort into leaves

a single dove, fat and rough-feathered
sits on one branch
when a second bird
a yellow-chested oriole
arrives

they don’t speak to each other
though the oriole regards me
with tolerant indifference
as i respect its personal space
and commit it to memory with
the aid of binoculars

Poem 20150805

crow

i stepped outside
to see what the dog
was checking out
with so much interest

it was just a rock
about the size of a baseball
bleached white
and i couldn’t remember
if i had seen it before
there in the garden

when i came in
i realized i hadn’t
looked up
hadn’t searched for
a single star

and it made the night
sky seem blacker
in my memory

Poem 20150804

crow

the clay is pretty quiet
when you work it

it doesn’t talk
the mouth only opens
if you’ve taken the time
to make a mouth

even then
one side is higher
flatter
not quite

there’s no tongue
no teeth behind the facade
of lips

if you work the loop
fast enough
you can hear the clay
as it smooths out
and falls in curls
onto the table

that’s a kind
of subtractive talking
all goodbyes
all goodbyes

Poem 20150803

crow

impressions of my headache
while lying on my bed with
my eyes closed and my hands
pressing into the sockets

luminous purples and greens
shaped like eggs
floating in a red-brown soup
but not a true black

the lie of blue shapes
and blood colored stripes
and finally a vertical slash
of white that fades as it slices
from top to bottom

cutting is the only truth
in the darkness
until you open your eyes

Poem 20150802

crow

the heat of the sun
lingers long after
i have escaped
to air-conditioned indoors

in spite of a thick
layer of sunscreen
and the hat with that flap
that covers the neck
like i’ve been on safari

it tingles like a memory
that won’t form–
a vague image in the foggy
edges of a dreaming mirror

or a desire that won’t
expose itself to the light
hiding under the skin
to preserve itself
and the skin

Poem 20150801

crow

today–
the sign says to beware
of poison oak
rattlesnakes
injury
mountain lions

but we only saw some poison oak
a few birds
a rabbit
and some annoying chihuahuas
off leash

no warning about them

still

a gentle breeze
kicks up the smell
of licorice
through the canyon

and bees swarm
the cluster of small
yellow flowers

last night–
the last blue moon
for years to come
wasn’t blue or amber
but its usual
ghostly white
a rotund specter in the sky