Wednesday, March 17, 2010

A Box Seat

But it was my bed
for the greying part of
the night; when the birds
all of 'em flew from high
to still higher branches.

Foraging for meat,
fighting for cultures,
the truth and worth
unknown to the fools,
who sang first and swore later.

A front row, earth the couch,
for me after riding down
a glossy techno lane
to quench the thirsty hawks
- my friends at home.

Back to the airy nest - my bed;
the whistling longshoremen,
warmth from an oceanographer
and pegs from six tempered strings
soften me to a lull so brief.

Wednesday, March 03, 2010

Hound Sight

Loved by the sly
four-legged female,
would-be wife to a dog,
later mother to his sorry litter.

Nights, my wounds are licked
and they flare open. Her poison,
saliva and the salted Marina air,
burns right through to the bone.

Her family, the hungry pack of
wolves in a concrete jungle;
chase for my blood,
my legs saved me that night.

And this day, she
came home with love,
and left with a pound in her mouth,
severed right from my chest.