Tag: writer

unintentional potentiality (20210424)

crow

i reach for words
or maybe just one word
fish around in unmarked boxes
with unknown distributions of letters
potentially making meaning
out of a collection of probabilities
tiles inscribed with ancient symbols
glyphs flickering to life
on glass
fading on paper

but who can own a word
or a meaning
who can mint that coin
that currency of grey matter
and say
–this is new!–

who the hell even wants newness

today the slugs taught me
when they pull in their heads
you can’t tell if they are arriving
or departing

here endeth the lesson

bandages required (20210422)

crow2 Comments

blood
has memory
–i am told–
and holds on to old grudges
remembers the exact
temperature to begin boiling
–but has a few tricks
to lower the mercury–
rushes to the head
for the wrong reasons
thickens at the wrong time
turns poisonous and icy
and yet
still flows from every wound
the same color

the smallest
sharpest cuts
bleed the reddest

leave the thinnest scars

epitaph (20210421)

crow3 Comments

dead thing under the pier
i would mourn your passing
if you would identify yourself
you resemble an alligator
(but if so, you are far from home)
or some small, desiccated
formerly scaled dinosaur
washed up on the beach
luring my dogs under
the boardwalk
to roll in you

you are missed
ancient, stinking friend
and we are not so much
separated by millions of years
of evolution
as we are by a length of leash
and two lungs full
of salt water

web in the morning (20210420)

crow4 Comments

the morning sun
lights up a spider’s single strand
stretching across the trail
a filament bristling like glass
as bright as any fiber optic thread

it makes no sound
as i pass through
expecting the tight twang
of a snapping violin string
or the light bell ring
of breaking glass

filtered light (20210419)

crow4 Comments

i steady myself against
the rotten tree

it cracks
breaks
falls

carpenter ants scatter
confused by this
home invasion
domestic destruction
this kaiju of a man

breaking things as
he lumbers through
the woods

isn’t this always the way
loud
clumsy
bending nature either by
accident
or design

but never truly passing through
like sunlight
between leaves