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The Crows (Poem)
air so heavy with moisture that every breath begs for rain
vain hopes that the sky would empty at least for a time
and walking would be easier without the hot wet drape
clouds could return to above where once they belonged
the crows know something, as they throw their cawing back and forth
doomsayers on chimneys, sentinels on powerlines, guardians in fields
they wait but in anticipation of storm break? a murder, a murder, a murder
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How To Open A Door/My Door (Poem)
to get to the door I had to move
a box a chair a screen
and then the door was open
I stepped outside but could not leave
the door remained
to enter again would have to be opened
so I found and placed in front
a chair a box a screen
relieved that I would know how to reenter
I set out upon my walk
doors can be so problematic
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Go Ahead And Try (Poem)
push books behind shelves or remove them altogether
their very existence threatens something you cannot define
reading itself a subversive act taking the reader unmonitored
into a private interior realm where anything could happen
better not to let people read but to let them be read to
for better control and shape of ordinary minds
kill all the writers who will not give in
shutter the libraries bookshops and schools
think that in a few generations people forget
beware
words will appear in the dead of night
scrawled on walls and down streets
written on stones left in doorways
scribbled on leaves to drift in the wind
people will read them
someone will always remember how
you will not win
