Blue fire sparks in the light
as you rise in flight:
a current of black feathers
washing the Western sky.
A call, and a call back,
barks the way,
and a cacophony of wings and consenting calls lands
on branches just beyond my window sill
where I
lie in wait with a gun,
hungry for some crow meat,
and some fun.
"No offense, but you drive me crazy, and I can't sleep."
1.26.2010
snow day in bloomington
Ravens gather in stark branches,
black ornaments adorning ashy trees
against white grey clouds.
Wind moves the snow from roof to roof,
revealing glittery patches of red clay,
water droplets shiver with each sudden gust.
The bell tower erupts with a chiming shout;
the ravens scatter, the bright sky obscured
by thick vibrating bodies.
black ornaments adorning ashy trees
against white grey clouds.
Wind moves the snow from roof to roof,
revealing glittery patches of red clay,
water droplets shiver with each sudden gust.
The bell tower erupts with a chiming shout;
the ravens scatter, the bright sky obscured
by thick vibrating bodies.
1.21.2010
meat poem
Dry smoke floats over the wilting orchard,
coating swollen apples with heavy musk,
masking red cranberries, streaked rhubarb,
fat dimpled gourds in a hazy ash.
The henhouse, since '98, has had a chimney
stacked with clay and brick above the chicken-wire windows.
There is no hay or feathers, but billows, string, and salt.
The meat spirals on a slow spit, brimming in a feedsack
stuffed with fennel and rosemary.
Spices mashed under my fingernails, thick lard coating my palms,
I sit on the porch steps and smell my hands.
coating swollen apples with heavy musk,
masking red cranberries, streaked rhubarb,
fat dimpled gourds in a hazy ash.
The henhouse, since '98, has had a chimney
stacked with clay and brick above the chicken-wire windows.
There is no hay or feathers, but billows, string, and salt.
The meat spirals on a slow spit, brimming in a feedsack
stuffed with fennel and rosemary.
Spices mashed under my fingernails, thick lard coating my palms,
I sit on the porch steps and smell my hands.
1.14.2010
Suburban Skyscapes
1:
This morning the yawning sky was witnessed,
a puddle of orange juice seeping upward
into the fabric of frigid black night,
through a dirt-seamed windshield.
to the building slicing
Glory with a rust red razor edge,
to the puncture
of a cell phone tower,
radiating the scene.
3:
Our smoldering star ticks
off celestial bliss,
with a long low sigh
that steams each window sill
and fries the laundry hanging to dry.
4:
Tonight the crooning sky will be haled--
a Hallelujah chorus of lights
hung on a deep blue scale --
through the crooked bars of plastic blinds.
This morning the yawning sky was witnessed,
a puddle of orange juice seeping upward
into the fabric of frigid black night,
through a dirt-seamed windshield.
2:
11 am's dusty blue sky is blind to the building slicing
Glory with a rust red razor edge,
to the puncture
of a cell phone tower,
radiating the scene.
3:
Our smoldering star ticks
off celestial bliss,
with a long low sigh
that steams each window sill
and fries the laundry hanging to dry.
4:
Tonight the crooning sky will be haled--
a Hallelujah chorus of lights
hung on a deep blue scale --
through the crooked bars of plastic blinds.
1.12.2010
The Tweet Life
1:49pm my lunch isn't settling good.
Neither is mine. That's why I'm sitting at this coffee shop sipping chai tea. I've been reading his tweets, watching him pace on the sidewalk outside with his hands in his pockets. His page refreshed.
1:50pm where is she?
I was so close I could see him blink. I realized I was staring at him. How did he update his page? I didn't see him pull out a phone or laptop. His face was crumpled in an awkward snarl. He walked to the snowflake decal on the window and picked at it with a fingernail.
1:51pm it's frickin freezing out here. if she forgot me i'll be pissed. maybe i should go inside.
I exhaled over my warm cup. He was inches away from me on the other side of the window. I focused on my computer screen and furrowed my brow intently. I picked up my purse and rifled through it, sneaking a peek at him while he read the posted hours on the storefront.
1:52pm yeah, i'll just step in for a second.
The door opened with a gust of cold air. His wool coat swirled around his waist with the incoming breeze and he raked his hands through his hair. I could smell his shampoo, almonds.
1:53pm hello there!
We made eye contact. Was he talking to me? Hi. I'd buy you a cup if you'd just sit next to me. He walked past my table and approached the cashier to order.
1:54pm coffee or dessert? i only have six bucks on me. maybe a milkshake.
I heard him order a frozen mocha, even though I knew he was cold. He should have ordered something warmer.
1:54pm wait, i should have gotten something warm. maybe i can change my order. mocha, hot.
The cashier gave him a rude look when he asked to change his drink. I smiled. She isn't really upset. Just smile at her, you'll win her over.
I studied him as he waited for his drink, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the shop. Do you want to sit down?
1:55pm there aren't any open seats. would she let me sit at her table?
I moved my purse out of the open chair and picked up my coat, putting it in my lap. Maybe he'd come over if he saw there was room.
1:55pm i could just ask. do you have room for someone else? she looks busy on that computer.
No! I'm not busy.
Neither is mine. That's why I'm sitting at this coffee shop sipping chai tea. I've been reading his tweets, watching him pace on the sidewalk outside with his hands in his pockets. His page refreshed.
1:50pm where is she?
I was so close I could see him blink. I realized I was staring at him. How did he update his page? I didn't see him pull out a phone or laptop. His face was crumpled in an awkward snarl. He walked to the snowflake decal on the window and picked at it with a fingernail.
1:51pm it's frickin freezing out here. if she forgot me i'll be pissed. maybe i should go inside.
I exhaled over my warm cup. He was inches away from me on the other side of the window. I focused on my computer screen and furrowed my brow intently. I picked up my purse and rifled through it, sneaking a peek at him while he read the posted hours on the storefront.
1:52pm yeah, i'll just step in for a second.
The door opened with a gust of cold air. His wool coat swirled around his waist with the incoming breeze and he raked his hands through his hair. I could smell his shampoo, almonds.
1:53pm hello there!
We made eye contact. Was he talking to me? Hi. I'd buy you a cup if you'd just sit next to me. He walked past my table and approached the cashier to order.
1:54pm coffee or dessert? i only have six bucks on me. maybe a milkshake.
I heard him order a frozen mocha, even though I knew he was cold. He should have ordered something warmer.
1:54pm wait, i should have gotten something warm. maybe i can change my order. mocha, hot.
The cashier gave him a rude look when he asked to change his drink. I smiled. She isn't really upset. Just smile at her, you'll win her over.
I studied him as he waited for his drink, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the shop. Do you want to sit down?
1:55pm there aren't any open seats. would she let me sit at her table?
I moved my purse out of the open chair and picked up my coat, putting it in my lap. Maybe he'd come over if he saw there was room.
1:55pm i could just ask. do you have room for someone else? she looks busy on that computer.
No! I'm not busy.
Public Restroom
Defiant interjections tumble
across a desert of thought.
one syllable
HA! -- bursts out
a sonic dart that hits
the steel wall of solitude
and plummets
into unheard and maybe
unspoken oblivion
across a desert of thought.
one syllable
HA! -- bursts out
a sonic dart that hits
the steel wall of solitude
and plummets
into unheard and maybe
unspoken oblivion
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