Tag Archives: American poetry

2026, Day Book, everyday words, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, Prose Poem, psychogeography, the no-scape

birds of blind faith and chaos and memory

The red cardinal looks fat and unhappy, perched on top of the shepherd’s hook holding an empty bird feeder. We have broken faith, and the birds will remember. The grackles, at least, understand the chaotic nature of the world and have found other places to graze in a most anti-environmental fashion. Farmers don’t like grackles because they eat the corn when it’s green on the stalk and aren’t as sociable as crows to believe in crucified straw men. Farmers don’t like grackles for the same reason some people don’t like cats: grackles and cats act more like we are than we’d like to tell ourselves we are.  Thus, like the faithless in any culture, grackles are outlaws, but don’t take it personally, as one day the seed or suet will always be gone. The cardinal took off, but will return. They are birds of blind faith.

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2026, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, the no-scape

it will all out in the end

Yesterday afternoon’s cold coffee 
and what’s left of a head cold
getting back to the grind 
of the mind and the fingers
putting words on the page 

and telling myself

it will all work out in the end
it will all bleed out in the end
in this one long game of chicken
and the headlights are bearing down
but the thing you never, never do
is look away
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2026, everyday words, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, the no-scape

The neanderthal finds scrap paper and loathing

Is this what a bird feels like remembering how to fly? Is this what a fish feels like remembering how to swim?

Jimi Hendrix on the cassette, pencil in hand, coffee and an apple. Organizing (or shuffling through distraction, depending on your point of view) I found the draft of an old story,  “Bump” based on a relationship that ended a long, long time ago, when I lived in Lexington, Kentucky. She once called me “a neanderthal with a college degree.” This was her way of getting in the last word before she went to find one of her long time fuck buddies who was also in a relationship. I remember thinking that since her version of culture included screwing all of my friends, I was fine with being a neanderthal. 

After a while wandering my mind’s geography turns sour and when I look outward, some shit bag has littered the landscape and left it to me to clean it up.

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