Tag: writer

hogtied (20170914)

crow13 Comments

tie me at the wrists
and then make sure
to secure my thumbs

primates are handicapped
without the use
of their hands

it’s for your own good
after all, and this time
don’t give me a safety word

or better yet
gag me–i don’t mind
as long as i can breathe

it’s all fun and games
until someone collapses
a lung or has a stroke

of course this is just
a metaphor
we don’t even have rope

upon discovering an old polaroid that should have burned (20170913)

crow7 Comments

i stare out
of the instant photo grinning
in a dove gray tux
a formal high school event
one of two that i can recall

it is hard to look at myself
the me inside recoils
at all of that youth
at that smile

as with many old photos
this one has faded
in a dramatic fashion
along with most of my memory
of that night

my chest
alreadybleached white
is now a blistering snowstorm
a blizzard over my heart
that makes me doubt
that foolish cockeyed grin
plastered on another me’s face

was being happy that easy?
or was that the beginning
that moment when the damage began
the frostbite in the bones?

dove feathers drift down
and i am moving softly, slowly
practicing a display of teeth

a brief flash (20170910)

crow12 Comments

something black flashes
in the grass
exactly the way
light doesn’t expand

overhead the sun blazes
behind a white cloud
and casts a long black shadow
across the sky
an oil slick on blue

underground
moving toward me
the bones in my feet
phalange proximal metatarsal
vibrate with its approach
something insensate and unilluminated
flashes underground
knowing me without knowing

breaking point (20170909)

crow19 Comments

i am a stained glass saint
and you are a high-pitched
tuning fork pressed against
my flattened multiple colors

you ring
i respond
with crack and shatter
fake gems from a pirate
souvenir shop scattered on
the floor

the red ones are my hearts
the blue ones whatever resolve
i kept in check

more hot lead
and patience
will be required