Category: Poems

Poem 20150611

crow

iced decaf americano

because no one makes
a regular cup of decaf coffee
not even in a coffee shop
not even in a shop
where the tables are tiny
and there are few seats

but the americano
tastes good
reminds me of real coffee
and it’s cold

even though the sky
is the color and texture of
soft lead weights
the ice is welcome

Poem 20150610

crow

maybe it’s the way i’m sitting
at work

i think

trying to rationalize away
the throbbing pain
in the back of my neck
the front of my head

it’s certainly not stress
since there’s little be stressed out
about
at work or home
and right now
(knock on wood–hear me, o
forest spirit, o dryad, dweller
bark and wood pulp)

or it could be
my obsessive checking of
the phone

or my sinuses
–my sini?–
but how does that account
for the neck

and what i want
is a cool dark room
and quiet
and maybe some music
but low enough
to think it’s the neighbors
playing something i like

Poem 20150608

crow

there’s something disturbing about
seeing the inside of a computer

or tablet after the shattered glass
has been lifted off and you

reveal the guts

mostly batteries, really
and you can recognize the fan

the tiny hard drive and the video
cable but so little else

tiny miracles laid bare
and still no clue as to what

burned out

Poem 20150607

crow

the throbbing in the back of my neck is where i expect the cool touch of your palm where i expect the slow gentle descent of your palm to slow the throbbing pain there brought on by not enough sleep too much caffeine not enough water being out in the sun being out in the fresh air even though the fresh air usually helps and my neck has a throbbing pulse all its own it seems separate from the rest of my circulatory system separate from my heart which beats out its own time its own timing and and i wait for the cool palm that will slow everyting down

Poem 20150606

crow

who hid the cloud
when the sun came out

it was here
just a second ago

keeping everything cool
and under a gray light

but now the shadows run
and shrink under our feet

and sweat runs down the
back of my neck

and the unrelenting blue
of the sky is like

a nightlight when
you’re trying to sleep

Poem 20150603

crow

let the hands move

they move

they move on

they move of their own accord

a truth in their movement
a truth in how
they slide
the hands slide
the hands pause
and trace shapes
and trace curves

let them trace
let them draw
let them follow
and grasp
and hold

each hand
five fingers true
and a truth in the muscles
and in the tendons
and in the bones
and in the marrow of the bones
and in the anima that moves them