"Rock Dove"
what *******
you're a pigeon
a cloud rat
a winged flea circus
if cancer doesn't get you,
a car wheel will
you'll become a corpse to step over
an inconvenience
a meal for real rats
but fear not, pigeon
there is beauty in your death
a collective relief  
that you're no longer here.

How you always wake me up early in the morning

Standing on the roof of my house while the house sparrows

Chatter among themselves in their sweet frenzied way

Arguing over food, and space and all the other things that

Siblings squabble over



They flutter around and you pay no attention to them

But like Zarathustra on his hillside, you continue to call out

And demand answers with that strange rising intonation at the end

A rising arpeggio of riddles asking of me in the morning-

Who-who, who-who, who?

The dead canaries
are still screeching
as the wolves claw at the door.

They told me that dead
birds mean new
beginnings but all I see
are shattered
hopes.

I looked the corpse
in the eye and
I swore that
I could see the shape
of tomorrow in smoke
and razor teeth
reflected in glassy beads.

I paid the hag
in gold coin,
and then the witch
took the rotted
thing away,
still shouting.

The dead canaries
are forever screaming
as the wolves break down the door.

I watched the fox, rat held firmly in its jaw,
Trot across the street, lithely avoiding the cars,
Ears pricked up.

It slithered under a fence and weaved through the undergrowth,
Not once acknowledging my presence.
Disappearing in the night, it yelped out its echoes in the wood
Licking out worms.

The shadowed moon slung down its light
Like weak silver bristles from the back of a carved out hedgehog
Covered with newly deposited fox saliva.
It had screamed as it was consumed-unable to die!

The crow stabbed at a newly dead rock pigeon
As the stalking cat pounced......
Death mingled!

Joe, who lived near me, waved:
I waved back, wondering why he saw nothing.

Little ****** blighter unsightful
Strut on the pavement cement
Droppings like rain
Feathers rough and unclean
Yuck they coo
They never seem new
Yet we know that they
Die too.

Nobody was born here
    But we'll die here
                   Sink into this rough soil
  And fertilize a tree.
                       And that tree will grow leaves,
           And come fall baby,
     People will come from all over just to see them drift away from the thing that gave them life.

Nobody was born here
     But then again,
   No one knows what "here" even means
         The meaning was lost in years and years of general nonchalance
               It sounds beautiful,
   But ****** if we know how to explain it.

Nobody was born here,
            But we can choose to call it home.
   We can choose to grow old here,
And we can choose to die here.
               And if we don't know how to define it, then that leaves a blank we can fill in with anything we want
        No matter what
        Anything at all.
  And if that means you sink into this rough soil,
      Just to fertilize one tree,
          Then come fall, baby
    People will come from all over just to see your leaves change and drift,
        And baby,
           That means you're beautiful.