Monthly Archives: April 2018

The troops are sweating
the people for cover

Elisions, drought, moving vehicles
are all places to shoot from

Inside the souk you can still find
seeds and good company

draped in the  scent of evening
under a widow’s garden of fossil light

Bargaining with god is what makes you sick
In the orchestra pit, everyone’s head tilting to the side

like cormorants, listening for what comes next
A beggar’s sign by the roadside: Make me leave you alone

Diana Nyad swam from Cuba to Florida
at age sixty four, without a shark cage, on the fifth try

Like a seed pod off the coast
drifting, swelling, nearly bursting

Someone is poisoning crows
They are dropping on the road’s
rough hide near my house

Their faces move
in leaves of slate
like an absent father

Somewhere a car salesman
lies in shrink wrap
Ants have left the door open

Rain goes back up
into the sky
in aluminum circles

The crows are
falling thicker now
like a fire of pencils

They dream
of black plum gall
their feral mission work

I bite my lip
against the world’s
dark mouth