Haircut for Corvid

 

016 (1024x685) (3)

Their shorn feathers fall

Like black snowflakes.

Short back and sides.

But Jesus, try getting the apron on them.

 

Caw caw caw!

Don’t go near them with powder

Or push the hair products

Even if they are at 50% off today.

 

Oh, and forget a tip

If all you have is lollipops,

Bazooka Joe and them

Go way, way back.

 

But what can I do

With a stone or a chestnut?

I shouldn’t complain

They help keep the lights on.

 

Anyway, I use the feathers

To soft pedal the night sky.

It helps me sleep

After a hard day’s work.

Imminent Jam

20170411_184648~2

 

English isn’t my first language:

It is the glossolalia of improving my mile.

Further.

Isn’t that what the man said?

 

Well, then, that always seems like always a

Hair further

Don’t it?

Man and woman alike can get tonguetwisted

 

Colloquially and in the finest farthest reaches

Of underpasses, townhomes and high-rises.

Eventually we trip over our tongues when the red light goes on.

By then, it’s time to get off anyways…

 

So knuckle under and buckle up, buttercup.

I’ll hold the steak knife to your supple chin

And by pray by dints, the glint on the blade

Blinds us all.

Excuse Me, Are You Finished With That Hegemony?

DSC_0057 (2)

Hey man,

Respect the dynamic.

Our empire can’t be erected

On the backs of other’s babies.

 

Again. Can it?

Oh, and speaking of erections

Ladies, maybe if you let us touch your bodies

Every once or twice or three times

 

We’d let you have a say

About your plumbing or that place

Down there wherever the stork

Deposits the twinkle in God’s eye.

 

Alls I’m saying is it’s tough being white.

Hard to be WHITE. The WHITER THE HARDER.

It’s almost, almost like trying

To not there at all.

 

Type B

20161229_124735.jpg

Born nameless without sin

We exit otherwise;

Meh, what can you do?

 

Live up to our names and sins

Or risk pissing off the Gods?

Better then being pissed on, eh?

 

Keep it moving Guthrie,

Your songs don’t play

On this jukebox.

 

From sea to shining sea

The gods burn upon re-entry

With nary a fizzle or kerplunk.

 

We carve ice sculptures in hell,

Fashion thimbles from granite boulders

With our bare hands.

 

Other times we nap.

Dreaming of names and sins,

Lonely as all get out.

Distance To Empty

wp-1486049647548.jpg

Shave the day’s ass and walk it backwards

For even a blind rat finds a sewer now and again.

Hear the tapping of their tiny canes,

The scuttling of their street sharp claws,

 

My friends, this is a movement

That has blossomed from an inchoate

Bead of sweat into fully-formed salty tears

Rising like the oceans,

 

A palpable fear beyond metaphor,

Scripted and hidden away for years

Beneath a lonely boy’s pillow,

Dampened with dreams and kisses

 

Right next to a mule’s champed bit,

Divinity’s teeth marks on the carcass.

The world’s not flat. Its an infinity pool

And we just sold out of extra-small sunglasses.

And Bingo Was His Name-O

20170120_181701.jpg

The privacy shifted in the low-octane revival. My eyebrows felt like feminine napkins trying to stanch the menstrual flow of the universe. That’s when I knew to be lost was really just waiting to be found.

I strapped on my caffeine goggles and ground my feet into the key-lime shag carpet. Your God may be forgiving but mine is a blue spark waiting to happen. The children gathered outside the compound like feral cats waiting on the tuna fleet’s return.

How could I tell them what we found in the mountains of mole hills? In the streams of consciousness? In the phantasmagoric diaspora of broken brittle tongues where the only music was the sound of souls descending to Hell?

Suarez…where in the fuck was Suarez? I gave him twenty coins of the realm, more than enough for the props and gadgets necessary. He better have my change.

Look on Yonder Wall

img_0373.jpg

 

Waiting on Heaven’s promises

Compromises our compassion.

Streams twine in dark synthesis

And come undone in a fashion

 

Like a river’s slow buckling reflects

Broken clouds across a changing sky.

The mutable watery aspects

Of wondering why.

 

… so comb your blonde hair,

Shine your blue eyes,

Hold back the edges of your gowns

You’ll get to paradise yet

 

Even if you have to chase it across the firmament

Only to find heaven is, as all things are, impermanent.