Got a strawberry patch with poems in it
young flax, lettuce and corn
worms subterranean with robin eye grit
planter saucer bird bath on tree stump born
yellow iris amongst antonym greens
white sun's beams internally greet
Poppies, cardinal red, bob and stream
on this breezy morning wing
as Black-capped Chickadees spring
do not go there are trees and how many who knows the world is round in Spring and fat in Spring is the far wonder of somewhere the chickadees of smooth sweltering dolls with their dulleyed limp mouths and they don't say a "fucking word"
Running playfully with the sun,
the moon follows
from Eastern skies.
I always enjoy these twilight hours,
listening to the day’s stories
of buffalo thundering the plains
for sweet alfalfa grass;
of hearing Chickadees love songs
to yellow daffodils.
But it is at dusk
I turn into the Grey Wolf
and howl lullabies
at the full moon.
Aztec Warrior 6.13.15
This skin is alive,
but I wish it were rotting
beneath the soil,
roots forming between
my rib cage,
rain draining the blood
from my veins,
birds stealing hair for
their chickadees pillows,
insects burrowing behind
This life has no meaning so I give my life to those who could use it.
Alchohol warms my throat.
Im a night owl,
stalking my next prey.
When I was the captured one;
My little mouse caressed my heart in a new fashion.
My lust was no longer instinct,
We danced like Chickadees in the sheets,
When I woke,
She was gone.
So came the days,
long of summer's winging
sweet the cherry chickadees sang
Grasping leafy ribbons hung,
willowy warm the trees we swung
All the green - the frog soliloquy pond
Fritillaria, frilly forest fronds
grassy mountain meadow paths,
daisy clouds bloomed, swirling past
Wild geese flocked the lake,
dusk too soon alas
August night of seasons end
starry meteors flashed across
velvet black whistling to
a blue moon