MONTHS are mature, the moon comes, I pluck you, with a doubtful hand and an abundance of anxiety. Night is ripe, night comes.

Moon hungry, wild moon. You make me a bat, take out. I am from the blind stone cave, hunting you. Night hungry, wild night.

The moon is sharp, the moon is deep. I'm a diver fisherman, long sharpening. Spear, on you I shut my eyes-wounded. Night sharp, deep night.

The moon over Rio
is upside down for someone who's only
ever given it thought from New England,
so while in Rio
I hang myself upside down
like a perching fruit bat
before it goes on its nightly
raid of Senhora de Andrade's hummingbird feeder.

I hang myself upside down
to see the moon as I'm used to it
and the blood flows to my head
accompanied by Gal Costa
and I right myself
return to  my senses
and hope that the local kilo restaurant
is still serving, otherwise
it's hummingbird nectar tonight.

1.  Put the plastic bat on the ground
Press your forehead against the top of it
And spin in circles ten times exactly
Or as close as you can count to ten times around
Use the crab grass as a marker while you turn

2.  If there was ever a girl I was meant to be with her name was Megan Briley
By fifth grade I knew she was a girl who was going to need saving
I didn’t know back then that saving was what I would cling to in the dark
It was a long November when she moved away
Neither her or I knew much of the other and we never will
For obviously good reasons

3. Push the bat down onto the ground
Look up
Dizzy as you may be
Find the cone and run to it
Do not fear the grass stains as you sprint around it
See the finish line and run with all your might

4. Luggage poured out of the overhead compartment when we landed in Shanghai
Contents had shifted
The air was thick
And soggy
And it all just looked like smoke out the window of the airport
My dad told me it was just the way the air was here
It made me sick for weeks

5. All you have to do is tag your friend’s hand
Then collapse in a heap at the end of the line and watch
To see if your team is going to win the relay race
Allyssa Clark is the fastest girl in the yard and she’s on your team
Odds are good you’ll leave this party a champion

I see them in the evening
echolocate after gnats
as they dart and dive for micro-prey
our night sky is alive with bats.

They clear away mosquitoes
never seeming to alight
and make it safer here below
these tireless workers of the night

I am fearful for their future
as we use our toxic sprays
for as we spray mosquitoes
we poison those who call them prey

Still the acrobatics thrill me
in their nightly hunt for gnats
and I hope for many years to come
our nights will be alive with bats

Cori MacNaughton
(July/Aug?) 1999

Tennessee Coal and Iron
Ensley Works , Birmingham , Alabama
Ensley Highlands , 30th Street

A turn of the century wood
framed house , sitting high on top a hill
Sitting on the front porch swing
in the sweltering August evening air

Playing "Your car next" , as cars ran
up and down the hill
Swapping turns , who gets what , laughing
at some of the outrageous wheels

Then as darkness descends
the dark skyline turns to Hell
Jets of forced blast air hits molten iron
and the gush of flames shoot high into the air

Eleven , twelve , maybe more
all the blast furnaces roared
as sparks flew up into the smoke
Surely these are the Devil's works
Where men are tortured so

As this for a backdrop now
it was time for ghost stories galore
Headless people and black drabbed ghouls
and little girls dripping wet that drowned in some unforgiving lake

We would draw up knees to our chest
in spite of the oppressive heat
And I would jump every time the breeze
would rustle the hidden leaves

So scared were we as bedtime neared
we'd ask mother if we could
spend "the night with you"
Ha ha ha , she replied , "NO !"
And then she went
Boo ! Boo ! Boo ! Boo ! Boo ! Boo !

bat
field
fly

Thirsting
For subterranean
Blue morphology

Azure dreams
Flitting about
On butterfly wings

Mining stalagmites and
Stalactites
Sipping nectar

Numinous ruminations
Illuminating
Analogous mimetics

Allegories of the Cave
An altar for
Pluming rhetoric

I'm a poem, I like cats named bat.

You're so violent
With your words
And I take the blows
Because at least I'm touched.
You inject your poison
With a kiss
And I love the taste,
Painful as it is.
If loving you is suicide
Oh, how I love to die.  
You say girls are prettiest
When they cry,
How beautiful am I?