the retreating deer
leaves broken hearts
printed in the mud
Tag: tracks
pieces (20170501)
silent tracks this morning
but so much glass
glittering on the ground
were the wind to pick up
the air would cut me
to pieces
i follow the rails in shoes
with soles so thin
i feel every facet of every stone
trying to pierce my feet
though empty, i have seen the trains
not the romantic locomotives
with porters and bewatched conductors
crowded dining cars
mysterious liaisons
but industrial bulk behemoths
the color of rust
the odor of old burned oil
delivering invisibles
in closed cars
i walk the middle of the track
wood
gravel
wood
gravel
iron on either side
a shirtless jogger approaches
loping toward me
glistening in the sun
i imagine myself
in a coat hanging past the knee
a dusty, wide-brimmed hat
arm relaxed but ready
to draw at my side
another poet’s words
write themselves nearby
first in soot
then in blood:
inspired by beauty
betrayed by lust
abandon[ed] by greed
enslaved by guilt
the jogger turns
the wind rises
and i am cut to pieces
prints (20170412)
you left footprints
in the folds of my gray matter
no waves to wash them away
an eternal shore
like the moon
without air
without water
only the roar of the ocean
and the crisp
outlines of your
shoes
——
It’s National Poetry Writing Month!
Day 12
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gratus sum (20160525)
by the train tracks
i am grateful for the rocks
i can feel through my soles
crunching under my feet
and the graffiti proclaiming
perry ruled, not rules
i wonder what happened to perry
i am grateful for the abundance
of trailer home parks here
in the middle of this
industrial zone
and remember that my
grandmother lived in one
not far from here
until alzheimer’s drove her
into a hospital bed
where she forgot how to live
while she waited to die
i am grateful for the cry
of the hunting hawk
as he soars over the drainage channel
and i know today he will eat
because there’s plenty of vermin
and i am grateful for the breeze
a latecomer to my walk
and to the clouds
that finally cover the sun
and prevent it from burning through my shirt
beating down on my back
like an accusation
Words and Feathers 