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
Tag Archives: change
That feel of the knob and how it always skipped over channel 6
This season grows tired of me.
The rain, deceptively June or even late May, falls odd against the backdrop of the first browning leaves.
It always takes longer than in the movies — we remember seasons changing like channels on old tube televisions, ignoring the static of early September.
No I don’t once the meaning of every little thing. I’m just trying to focus
on just this one.
My eyes follow the night hawk
Today’s gone to the dogs. The cats have thoughts too, though are less willing to share. This downslope slide into midnight it’s not the rhythm that gets thrown off so much as old programming. Habits of previous lives. A body regenerates new cells every 7 years or so or so I’m told. Coming up on 5 years sober just past 7 years out of the classroom and I am growing scales I am growing fins I am growing. Cicadas and crickets and prey mantises find me call me Fellow. Possums and wharf rats they join the birds. My eyes follow the night hawk under a the sharp edge of a late August moon. But for now the dogs just want to know they’re loved and care little if it is by a monster.