no lord no we’re not choking out / the air
it just strangles a bit / this asphyxiation
smoke from above the far north border
rolls rolls rolls / last night’s waxing gibbous moon
shone through / later maybe tomorrow later
there will be rain from ash-salted clouds
and we will hope it will clean us / maybe redeem us
and we will hope this will be the last
we will have to erotisize extinction
Category Archives: summer
Dear Goldie Johnson said 20 years ago, with a bit of Creole stuck in her teeth
then, just like this one now
a short burst of summer rain, afternoon sun reflecting the birth and death
of a billion new galaxies: “The Devil’s Wife
done kicked him out da bed.”
the unscripted evolutionary track of night shift river critters
these nights a man might grow
back into a bird into a lizard
some feathered gator
razor teeth sitting waiting
that 2nd eyelid closed
at rest aware
it creeps up sudden-like
doesn’t skitter
no not some wharf possum
more like plodding focused
there is intent oh yes intent
the silent genes kick in
latent DNA manifests
you don’t notice
you’re not a man
you don’t notice
you’re resting
and your eyes are open
like a dog a hawk
a river lizard