Tag: poet

potential (20200409)

crow15 Comments

hold the flashlight up
under my chin
like a suicidal jedi knight
breathe out
empty those lungs yogi-style

in the light a vapor forms
the amorphous shape
undulates away
disappears as water droplets
spread and the temperature
between them and the adjacent air
becomes insignificant

exhale again
step into
the little cloud of myself
feel nothing

neither the sudden cooling
of nighttime sea spray
nor the volcanic steam
of the just finished running dishwasher

just nothing

and is this
–i wonder aloud to the dog–
what ghosts don’t feel
when they pass through
one another?

the fit of melancholy (20200407)

crow10 Comments

the poor are still poor
the dying still die

those obsessed with power
wrap themselves in disaster
like moths in cocoons
only to emerge stinking of
blood
self-righteousness
their own vile shit

weaponize everything
the weapons
the disease
the cure

cockroaches
are time travelers
come back to honor
their ancestors

exoskeletal echo (20190921)

crow1 Comment

beneath the dry soil
water-smoothed rocks
the ground exhales
a fine cloud of dust
as you excavate

i found once
the desiccated remains
of a hungry ghost
translucent and as white
as the moon
in the morning sky

it had eaten its fill
and moved on to bigger
hopefully better things
though
what does a ghost eat
besides the memories
and the breaths of the living

in close up, the peach pit looks like a crater pocked moon (20190827)

crow9 Comments

let us go then
you and i while
this little light
fails in caution tape stipes
of yellow against green
yellowing grass

everything rolls up
in the egg roll
layer by layer
by layer
like a handroll
with krab, avocado
and mermaid meat
easy on the shoyu

the dog pants
the dogs pant
the dog’s pants

the table etherized patient
has 100,000 miles
of arteries and veins
stretched tightly
when plucked
the vibration is invisible to
the human eye
the sound so high
it cannot be heard
except by resonance
in the blood

cheering you up, part two (20190726)

crow15 Comments

run a needle through
grains of sand like beads
sand from my eyes
no sunny beach
the needle exits every
where there is an eyelash

this is sleep

when you die
depending on the mortuary
or the mortician i suppose
they will plug your throat
and sew your mouth closed
to keep the last notes of your
last song
from scaring the folks staring
at your mummified remains

your eyes will be velcroed shut
not exactly velcro
instead they’ll use an eye cap
a contact lens covered in spikes
to keep your eyelids in place

run me through a meat grinder
and feed me to the shelter dogs
someone at least
will not go hungry for one single meal

there is no part one

the dream of the moon (20190722)

crow26 Comments

i dreamt i was the moon, but the dream seemed real upon waking, so much so that i checked the mirror for craters and dark sides. i found nothing of interest–no man living there, no celestial maiden, no mochi pounding rabbits. the memory of that cold embrace of the dark sky, being held by nothing, floating and shining with an impossible weightlessness of being both far away and as near as a reflection in glass haunted me throughout the day and well into a moonless night.

for dVerse Poet’s Pub
Prosery #2 — “I dreamt I was the moon”

a feather the weight of the sun–20190718

crow2 Comments

i push into you
pass through you like
that episode of star trek

–which one?–

where a transporter accident
causes the crew to phase into
a parallel dimension
but still they manage to
keep their feet on the
floor of the ship

–which one?–

how do ghosts do it?
pass through walls
yet move on a slightly curved path
that ties them to the earth
like regret or obsession
is just another word for gravity

like destiny is another word for density

the stuffed birds in the taxidermist’s window
forever open their beaks
forever expand their throats in song
for never fly again