Tag: writing

tree swallow (20210430)

crow3 Comments

at first glance
you appear blind
but this is soot in your eyes
or more specifically
soot in the feathers
around your eyes

the how of your home invasion
interests me less than the what
of your search
i have been told
you build mud houses
in the chimneys of
other’s houses
(mine also mud, of a sort)
without regard
to updrafts of hot air
or safe escape

rejoice!
you allow me to release you
to cloudy skies

you shit on my hand
in parting
which is probably
the most common
way to say goodbye
to a savior

waiting (20210429)

crow8 Comments

we will wait
for the apple blossoms
to swell, pregnant and fat
and will not tire of
apple picking time
when that time has come
at last

there will be a time for pie
and even piemaggedon
will not slake my thirst
and when the last ones fall
the bruised
and insect ruined
the deer will feast
and thank us
with little piles
of presents

tide and time and fire (20210428)

crow2 Comments

the log on the sea
doesn’t remember the axe
but it knows the bitter cut
of icy salt water

the salty sea
buoys the log
and doesn’t know the petals
of flame within the wood
waiting to be released

at high tide
there is little chance to
to wash ashore

at low tide
it will be swept out
among the seals
and the gulls

maybe
another beach

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