Tag: write

song fragment (20170710)

crow15 Comments

we collected teeth along the shore
hey la, hey la, hey la
a necklace shiny and bright made we
hey la, hey la, hey la

a night and forever its length you wore
hey la, hey la, hey la
as i spoke with the voice of the sea
hey la, hey la, hey la

the moon shines pale upon your breast
hey la, hey la, hey la
now for eternity we are dressed
hey la, hey la, hey la

unread letters (20170709)

crow14 Comments

i found your blood
in a red-stained envelope
waiting in my mailbox
throbbing like an organ

the thickened state of it
surprised me though

i thought it would be more akin
to ice water than a
hot, swirling pudding of
reds and browns

easy enough to take a pen
and write
–but carefully
so as not to puncture–
[return to sender]
and lift the heart-red flag
to alert the postman

i didn’t have a letter opener, you see
and i was out of stationery and
razor blades
for a proper reply

strings (20170706)

crow21 Comments

i am stretched thin as a hair

speak to me and i vibrate
a single guitar string
in the cosmos
tying star to star
humming one note

if i were more
i would be a minor chord
complete and harmonious
yet melancholy even among
the celestial furnaces

stretched thin as a hair
tying star to star
if a fuse
i would burn
my embers meeting
in the middle of all things

the mind’s pie (20170705)

crow25 Comments

summer strolls through
my backyard
leaving peaches fall
baking in the sun
attended by fig beetle and
squirrel
overwhelming sweet fermenting scent
fills the air
a thousand pies all at once

i long
for the taste of melting
ice cream on my tongue
the coarse grains
of the vanilla bean

a car
on the freeway honks
and i pretend it’s
one of lake geese

something red (20170703)

crow9 Comments

i am a brick
or
i am made of bricks

one is reductive
the other an amalgam

both are red and brittle
and you can draw on the sidewalk
with a bit of it
clutched in your fist
hanging of the the bottom
of your hand
like a turd
that won’t drop

they say the jews
made bricks in egypt
and built the pyramids
even though that’s
probably not the case
but who knows

i have a time machine
in my head
but it’s faulty
no matter
how i try to travel to the future
the damned thing always pulls up
to a new york apartment
i don’t know and wasn’t
expecting

a doorman opens the door
his coat is red
the color of bricks