Tagged: the Birds

Meds

i am asked to pass candles over a fence to a party

i light them first, which I guess makes the whole thing harder

looking back it seems strange

each candle seems desperate, a plea to other nights

the flame a small bird struggling with huge weight

overstimulant with nice things

beetle-wings in woman’s hair, the air all

at once. i know they are small, my hands

but small things eat things

they consume slugs as dolphins

people who understand, might understand

i see the world in the eyes of everyone else

or do i just see it that way

is near death a symptom, or the start of a remedy

should I stop now, or just go with it?

Voyager 1

baby birds cry
to expose the red insides
of their mouths

so that the parents
can deliver food
any sound

they make
is just screaming
it attracts possums,

raccoons
we sing, we scream
in both joy & anger

we certainly cry – in
everything we say
we are saying

Here I am
Come get me
like baby birds

preferring the company
of whatever’s out there
to nothing

Grief Later

What’s the turn around? Will this
be like when I was 4 and didn’t cry
at Nana’s funeral, because
she smelled funny, because
she brushed my hair too hard
in a hammock once? I was 4.
I remember things as if through
that hammock, my face pressed
into ropes like the design of a face.
I can’t remember what I’ve lied
about, or what is a story. Was it even
me who saved the chicken heads
because their beaks still moved?
Where would I have put them? If I went
back to the house on Rogge Lane, to
the adjoining back yards, would there
be a knot hole, a cinder block shelf
rowed with chicken heads?
Are they still in my pocket? Or
are we completely mistaken by grief?
Kidnapped. I wonder –
can it be considered a good life
if when you die, even for a second,
someone thinks you haven’t?

Guerrero Park

In the same vein
hands are laced
of lovers walking

Runners erect
their running stances
filling with air

like animals do
to avoid
being eaten

I am guilty of this
And pulling away my dog
from his interests

Something about today
though. I am
in touch

A hand has drawn the sun
a little closer,
cracking it

like an egg
over
the water

I let my dog stop
and sniff
whatever he wants

and gaze upon a duck
at the edge
of the spillway

I will be a new man
when I have forgotten
this day

and can read on it again
its fishing men
beneath

like ants in a sink
twitching in the spray
of a silver faucet

They won’t catch much
Most of the fish
are sent downstream

through a bypass
in the dam. Shall we
go to the end today?

Where heron stand
aloft in
their jubilant arches

piercing
their faces
on the water

Overslept

//The early bird catches tape worm

//The early bird catches her mother and father
eagerly awaiting separate packages

//The early bird catches the worm’s understudy, Gregory
face down in a puddle behind the theater. No one can find Worm
Show is 2 days away

//The Early Bird is the first known organism to appear with feathers
It must have flown solely from attempts to shake them off

We Were Here

An injured hawk circles the circumference
of its tether, resting occasionally on a glove
attached to the fence. Clouds gallop over
mountains, shedding their snow like loose summer hair
I’ve seen no people between Moab and New Mexico
Just the signs of people. There’s a town called
Many Farms where TB medication was tested in the 50s
Several hand-written signs for Xbox repair
A stray dog at the Conoco eating what remains
of a sandwich. The school sits half-excavated
from the rock. You or I take pictures from the car
I wonder where the people are, and if a land
so unforgiving is ever asked

The Hermit Crab Writes to the Woodpecker About People

Poor old woodpecker
tried the telephone pole. Forty-thousand
calls, dropped into the sea

Of all the things the humans say
how much of them
have been said forever?

I am hungry. I am thirsty
I am crawling inside
something else to sleep

I can’t come to the phone right now
I am staying behind
on my own
to fidget with the mammoth carcass

Maybe its bladder
can be made into a bladder!

It’s your night to cook
Where are the hand attachments?
The forks, the knives, the spears
Why do hands make
such inadequate weapons
that we should have to
consider what we hold
before killing, before pulling off
the side of the road?

How long have words
been a part of the head?

Slanted lights
in black water, used
for tricking
smaller fish
into listening,
into getting
uncomfortably close