A slight revision

Sustenance

Here, tomorrow is silent,
helpless and perfect.

Together we kneed the dough
and live through single syllables
playing at homegrown grace

with hands that know nothing
but decades of bounty.

Bird Signs: An odd revision

Bird Signs

The blood, butter on bread

beneath the wiper blades
that mimic the thick thud
of my inconsequential kill,

for now, I’ll own this—
stir it into my coffee,
take slow, deliberate sips.

I remember less than a wing,
a serrated silhouette
slashing at that traitor air.

The blood and the rain
Indifferent perfection
mixing on the interstate

the way two words can mix
their careful sounds
and still signify nothing

less than the path to God.

Bird Signs (A late night rough draft)

Bird Signs

The blood, butter on bread
Beneath the wiper blades
That mimic the thick thud
Of my inconsequential death,

It will be mine for now—
Stirred into my coffee,
Tilled under my field.

I remember less than a wing,
Just a serrated silhouette
Slashing at that traitor air.

I had its beating heart in hand,
Then nothing but morning drive
And all the pain of commonplace.

Savior (Streamlined by Annie King)

Savior

He called for a kaleidoscope
with the same mahogany heft
as the man who found it—

every inch built on solid bone;
nothing more, or less, than a weapon

Its glass eye found the dawn
as angular as the word
broken and blooming into god.

(Thanks Annie)

Savior

Savior

He called for a kaleidoscope.
It had the same mahogany heft
as the man who had found it—

every inch built on solid bone:
nothing more than a weapon
nothing less than a weapon.

Its glass eye found the dawn
growing as angular as the word
broken and blooming into god.

Grad School

Ok, so I’ve been away from my blog for awhile. Grad school started and with it teaching freshman English. Going into week three, I’m beginning to settle in. So, it’s back to the blogging.

Just Words Revised

Just Words

At my feet, the promise rolls
all its wounds gathering dirt
making sure death stays ugly.

I stoop, black suited, a vulture
handing down logic like chiseled ice
faceted and angular

begging for irrelevance.
Shattering, the words tinkle like rain;
not even the maggots take notice.

An Idea

This is just a sketch of a poem. It came to me as I was headed to bed, so I don’t have the energy to polish it at the moment. It could go in a variety of directions; but, this daily writing thing has taught me to write down any ideas before they’re lost.

Just Words

At my feet is a tattered promise.
Hear it call out obscenities
that hang loosely about
like the smell of casual decay,
a drooping haze of impotent ire
defiling an afternoon’s calm.

I stoop, black suited, a vulture
handing out logic like chiseled ice
faceted and angular
with accusations of irrelevance.
Shattering words tinkle like rain;
not even the maggots are moved.

Unsaid

You, without a splinter of sound,
or the clumsy drama of a wound
could always find your way inside.

There, just above my collar bone
where a thicket of naked thorns
erupts from a single honest seed

planted by fingers far too sinister
and nursed by a beauty too brutal
for a name as weak as murder.

Sustenance

Sustenance

Here, tomorrow is silent,
helpless and perfect.

Together we kneed the dough
and live through single syllables
playing at store-bought grace

with hands that know nothing
but decades of bounty.


(Who's idea was this daily writing thing anyway?)