Dec 03

Crystal Dog

The crystal dog
likes it when I take his
collar off
when the maple trees line
like soldiers
tall and frozen 
leading to a 
distant memory
Where the crystal dog
has sparks in his eyes
and his nose perks towards
the tree tops
and he crooks his leg
as if he wasn't bred to be
the child of a 
coddling culture
but still
the chirps in the bushes
peek more than interest
and the crystal dog
follows bunny tracks
like hiccups in the frost
oh but he is no longer the
crystal dog
no
the light shines through 
him in the woods
and he burns brighter
than the homely 
crystal dog
something forgotten has
been nudged within him
and at the smell of the
ripe moss and the murky puddles
he is awake 
and I wonder
if there is something
like that in everyone
crinkled and ancient
but there none the less
Dec 03

Golden Swan

There is a
single golden
swan
who stands
apart
in the pond
the others
circle 
with quiet
grace
so soundless
I feel like screaming
just to know it is
real
Haste sits
with crossed-arms
on the bank
it has no place among
the feathered angels
and still the others
orbit him
the gilded one
born
of lily flowers
and snow flakes
but once when I 
went to watch
he was gone
a single shining
feather
left crooked
on the water
and a fox 
stared cold and grim
from the bushes on the bank
but the other swans
marched themselves from 
the water
through the bushes
past the fox
over the mountains
and they found themselves
another golden swan

 
Nov 19

Little Child

She idly
dances her fingers on
the window pane
her hand
small
and fragile
unbaked dough
yeast rising in the
early morning sun
marker smudges
on her fingertips
a single sticker
on the back of her 
hand
and I wonder where
she is going
and her fingers
twist and skip
in circles on the glass
and they flourish
and the dough jumps
and the sticker holds
on tightly
her fingers still
and drop to her 
side
her dance is over
and I applaud
Nov 14

Pigeon Feathers

Oh my dear
We miss you
pigeon feather,
someone took you 
from under the bench
and thought it funny
to do away with you
or maybe you left
your frostbit heart
seeking refuge
from our cold 
blind shoulder
and now
I do the 
seeking
wishing something
to fill the spot
below the park bench
please don't see 
my petty apology
as late
it was simply
never sent
Now my knees
are patterned 
with the rough 
sidewalk
kneeling before the
parkbench
oh pigeon feather
See how my once chilled
shoulder
now weeps
and folds towards
the park bench
melted with regret
how the pebbles 
pierce my sorry
skin
as I kneel before
your ancient seat
how loneliness has molded
forgotten and cold
And the world
wails
it too has found
the pigeon feathers gone
and the metal man
slows
Nov 14

Pigeon Feathers

Oh my dear
We miss you
pigeon feather,
someone took you 
from under the bench
and thought it funny
to do away with you
or maybe you left
you frostbit heart
seeking refuge
from our cold 
blind shoulder
and now I seek
something
the full the spot
below the park bench
please don't see 
my petty apology
as late
it was simply
never sent
Now my knees
are patterned 
with the rough 
sidewalk
kneeling before the
parkbench
oh pigeon feather
See how my shoulder
now weeps
and folds towards
the park bench
how the pebbles 
pierce my sorry
skin
as a kneel before
your ancient seat
how loneliness has molded
forgotten and cold
And the world
wails
it too has found
the pigeon feathers gone
and the metal man
slows
to cry for the pigeon feathers
maybe you all
Nov 02

Night Fox

The fox is washed in by
the dust
and in the car lights he 
seems afraid
but his furry haunches
propel him across the 
frozen potholes
and with his tail a plume of exhaust
he leaps over the ditch 
into the bushes
never once touching the ground
and I wonder if there is
really just blood beneath 
his skin

 
Nov 02

Rook

The rook
has eyes for me
in the woods
with ebony
talons he grips the 
branch 
he came long ago
and
the trunk 
already washed over
his feet
I doubt he would
ever die
the rook needs 
nothing
but he still asks
and tells me to come
with him
out of the 
nest we have created in the 
woods
from our place 
at the spreading oak
we can see the edge of the 
forest
he strains towards the sunlight
the bark around his 
feet frays
and he wrenches himself from
the tree
the rook
unfolds his rusted feathers
of black and gold and red
but he falls
and I rush to catch him
in my hands he 
looks ancient
but his face fills
with a new sort of
wonder
I carry the rook
to the edge of the forest
and prop him on a stump
eyes of soot meet
the golden sun
and a single, inky tear 
Oct 22

Morning on the bus

My teeth click
as the bus
bumps down
the dirt road
The mountains
are firmly pasted
below the clouds
the trees lose their
definition in the early
morning light
they appear to be 
paper cutouts 
very delicate
someone arranged the 
clouds in streaks
and lumps
I watch the yawning 
world through the dirt
in the window
it is morning on the bus 


 
Oct 22

The Abditory Casino

Landon Lupa could usually be found by the Abditory Casino bar. One hand neatly folded into the pocket of his jacket, the other cradling a glass of brandy. At first glance, this is a man of sophistication. But no. This was a man who holds secrets closer than friends. You may think this sort of person is a given in every society. But life is more disturbing up close. If you strapped him to a chair and turned on the light, you would see the plastic comb marks in his greased hair. The fraying hole where he cut the security tag from his suit. The sneaker shoelaces he laced into his shining shoes. And one must not miss the golden band of a watch dangling from his pant pocket. Meeting naive bar goers and palming the watches was his custom. 
Oct 22

The Abditory Casino

Landon Lupa could usually be found by the Abditory Casino bar. One hand neatly folded into the pocket of his jacket, the other cradling a glass of brandy. At first glance, this is a man of sophistication. But no. This was a man who holds secrets closer than friends. You may think this sort of person is a given in every society. But life is more disturbing up close. If you strapped him to a chair and turned on the light, you would see the plastic comb marks in his greased hair. The fraying hole where he cut the security tag from his suit. The sneaker shoelaces he laced into his shining shoes. And one must not miss the golden band of a watch dangling from his pant pocket. Meeting naive bar goers and palming the watches was his custom. 

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