Story

Cicada grubs snugged numerously together

in the weak limb. Slept, dreamed,

devoured tree flesh, grew fat

with organs of song, reproduction.

They'd build

a cage of self to struggle free of, stand

in sun and wind,

fill the sky

with love's deafening racket.

The branch fell, their dreams

rolled on, green dials hidden in boles,

faces in woodgrain and clouds.

Monster Holiday

“Careful with that,”

said the monster

to the mover

with the glass jar

full of knapsacks and toes,

“and that too,”

he said (or was it she?)

of the mirror

with knapped edges.

Arrow,

enter the moon,

buy a statue of love.

Court a courtly lover,

grease the banjos in their apartments

sadly going over the figures

of department store dummies

still wearing the light

green seersucker dresses

of a 1970’s dream,

still asking for extra,

whichever it might be,

whether syrup or milk,

ointment or string.

Climbed up the fire escape with a noose

Sat on a stone sill. Said,

“Why kill yourself?

You’re gonna die anyway.”

It made a lot of sense,

peered in at the door

for a look at something

far from ordinary, though dull.

houses and yards

We're all-purpose animals--

nothing is ever quite right, but anything will do.

We're questers, constant seekers,

restless black shapes moving among trees,

make things out of vines and bones,

drink potions.

Pleasure is a veiled dancer under stars,

a song you love but can never remember.

"I’m not leaving this planet until I find the treasure

that fits only me," you might say

to the ghosts of past selves, tired of waiting around,

but they’re not tired, are they, phantoms eager to recite wishes

so a poor kid grows up to have too many pairs of shoes.

blackness, branches and birds

I stare into space

my crows of thought

in a rare glide

on this skyward journey

we ride what we love

it’s hard work

but worth it

not just for the view

which is great

but for the fellow feeling

following calls

to the night roost

galaxy of greetings

crow stars

frost and flight

restless sky

aloft prophet look, we’re home