there was an old man
made out of words
his wife was made of deeds
no one knows what happened in their home
but they had three children
1/31
there was a hawk, yesterday, beside my neighbor’s house
(and, as it was between our two houses, also beside mine)
on the ground, white feathers in his beak, like a milk moustache.
this is not a place for hawks, runs through the back of my mind.
he (I assume, and why is that?) bends, and rips at what’s
between his feet. white feathers float around his head.
dead, the pigeon has become clean and gracefully light.
Of course,
rather than appreciating what I was seeing, I spent a good 15 minutes pissing and moaning
because my camera only has a 4X zoom.
Poor bird, just trying to eat his lunch, and here I am stalking him. He’s trying to be polite, without offering, but after a few minutes of my getting closer and closer, he starts
trying to drag the carcass away from me. Too much fat pigeon to fly off with, and he does not want to leave it. I felt guilty (after all, I have been begging for something to get rid of the pigeons for me, messy things) and leave him to his white feather affair.
1/30
when I write in the
small notebook, my
lines are shorter;
thoughts,somewhat
chop
ped
1/29
Saw a clump of daffs in bloom.
And it not even Groundhog day
1/28b
I would so love
to ravish you with words
or knock you off your feet
and leave you grinning in the mud,
a spot of verbiage clinging
to your earlobe
like lettuce
1/28
Aches run in the background, the system slows
requiring greater pain crossing the threshold. aches
are TV and traffic. Last night lightning struck nearby
and shook me. Is this a heart attack?
1/27
an old man once
he lived with a woman
he made out of his hair
and his toenail parings.
clearly unaware of her im-
possibility, she counted cribbage
on his age spots, and sang him
stories of creation.
1/26
The rain came later.
First the rabbits danced.
One to rush–el toro
One to levitate–magical surrealism in a bunny suit.
1/25
black cat, faster underfoot than my shadow,
how much like fear
that brushes at your lowest point
and weaves, but that is not what trips you.
1/24
The dripping is metallic light
into a hollow sound. Ignore
the faucet and drain, and it
is the encoded pause before
entering the garden house. When
did I grow this sharp carping
voice? Listen to the fountain.
Lighten up, snark-face voice.
Lighten up. And turn off the faucet.
