Seems unlikely that
anyone with the
gifts that in/sight brings
would spend their lives
chasing plastic
or
measure themselves against one another
using imaginary numbers.

Seems unlikely
that I'd be born
this kind of ape.

At least, it's a less
violent existence,
personally,
where I come from.

Crow (written 12-14-12)

What is it
   about a black crow in flight
   that makes it appear so much larger
   against morning-pale clouds
   than it really must be?

Banging frost from his feathers
   next to mirrored, fresh-air puddles
   (last night's rain)
or
   cawing, complaining, chattering
   on a lamppost spire
he is
   a foreigner, protruberance into our world.
   Loud and timid novelty,
   hopping, scratching, pecking thing
he is
   patient and
   angry and watchful,

but
   careening, each feather madly spread, he is
   intense wraith-
   inscrutable purpose and heaviness.
   Wings folded in to
   wheel and dive, he is
   death's own nature-
   the terrifying maw.

Claxons

The nightly news goes from
cannibal cops
to black Friday sales,
and the man next to me chuckles-
a quick, sort of cheerless
stir of the air-
and then he lights a cigarette.

Me, I'm growing a beard.
And there's a game on tonight,
but I don't much feel like talking about it yet.
So I'll just say that it's a bit too bright in here,
and watch the boys flip bottlecaps
into the trash.

I'll listen to the sirens all around me,
and keep my whiskered chin up,
and do my best to stay calm.

Fallen Intact

Sitting in the Second Street windows
of a flying saucer
Watching traffic pass-
late day sun
On the abandoned bricks of Peabody Place,
I am a clean sheet
remembering dirty hampers.
I am a smooth, gray cobblestone,
newly swept over,
daubed with colorful autumn leaves,
fallen intact.

I'll show you doors, if you show me time.

Pen

Pen,
he meant.
All those tiny angels?
They dance on the tip of a pen.