Tag Archives: birds

Having darkened my hand with dark ink in
an age when close and
distant are cloudy unaided having
made so much that no

body wants to eat I wait for the latest
historic storm and the
scrape and salt that wakes us too early
or too late

model mountains pen in
sugared cars I try to

lift the snow with a wave
of homemade rhythm into
sky like berries almost black

but do I fracture some rule with
this spell how many feet do I have

to long for long-lasting mud
and the birds who

visit though we won’t learn
their names this year

either but the tracks lead
to a curve turning

back on itself with a smile
the breath leaves

green leaves shake

so let’s finish off the crackers
and call them
cookies we can watch
a movie through the neighbor’s
window just
balance on this skull

before I’ve started I
give up on this little
story surrounded
by the almost noise
of air conditioners
slow unseen aircraft
the last breath of
why can’t I just

 

stop me if you’ve heard this one

 

but no it’s just
from here we see
trees burning birds
thud to the ground
apartments collapse
spilling canned peas
and plastic dolls into
a stream and clouds
and clouds and clouds

Seven in the morning of the first

of May already so bright in clear

blue air birds make their plans

immense. Time for our little

 

dog to darken the earth with her

mighty stream and then a few thimbles

of kibble. As I doze my way back

and glance at the car of the neighbor

 

I try to avoid

a wide disc of wood from some

unlucky loved tree on

the driver’s seat.

I guess everything I

thought about the spring is wrong.