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JV Beaupre Oct 2021
Where every thing is black and white
in technicolor;

Where no matter how absurd,
things turn out well;

A cruel place,
but not systematically so;

Where one thing is sure:
when the coyote treads air--
pedaling as fast as he can,
gravity prevails.

Beep, beep.
Ryan Buynak Apr 2021
When it finds a match,
the fire sends its regards
for the source of its warmth.

Where heat  
and breast floats gold,
I see the old sky new.

Why a mold
that charms cats and brothers
as the offender of kings.

What's more,
it knows
the Tarantula D'amour.

We all burn slow,
even if we die young;
so be it.

Well, let's live
today if not and especially
tomorrow doesn't exist.
mothwasher Feb 2021
it was a kiss with coyote’s embouchure, with the river’s casket, with gelified venom, with the apron’s appetite, with compact distortion around portable lip cuffs, with trite lies liquified, with mud clumps in mercury clasps, with spit woven theses, with unwound ovoid wellsprings, with sun-hidden shadows, with the frayed nighttime squish, with closeted hand dice tossed, with chance in the fistfuls, with detuned static and bellyaching bramble, with losing yourself, with entropic dissociation, with fleeting tokens, with sayonara stamps, with honey pumping nozzles, with inside out stratus veins, with the pain of history tucked in the trail fringe, in the pebbles kicked outward, with fried abandon, with seatless balconies, with the touch of an insect unexpected while straddling a brick wall with electric grout, with eyelashes trimed by the wind, with patterns passed, with breathless shapes and shaping dimensions, without the taste of lavender or the mosquito’s lonely thirst, with time passing, with time passing, with time passing, without passing time, with the sky dumping elected dead bodies, with spoonfuls of miracles, with starvation kicking, with moon swells forgetting the fomite sea, with weather inside, with dry mouth drawer memories, with omens and herrings with teeth and tongue.
AJBusse Jan 2021
"Do you believe in love?" Asked the girl
"Yes and no," Said the coyote
"Love is beautiful," Said the girl
"But it is also painful," Said the coyote
"But aren't beautiful things worth pain?" Asked the girl
"That, my friend, is a question for the stars." Said the coyote
"I love you coyote,"
The coyote smiled
"I love you too."
Pockets Aug 2020
There’s no traffic in the canyon
Just hitch hiking coyotes
That *** to many cigarettes
But always have good stories
All they want is a play boy bunny
To scratch them behind the ears
Where the truck stop soap always collects
They are simple like that
That’s why I never fear all the teeth in their smiles
Dull and worn down by all the miles
They have put on those paws
When we pulled into the next town
They nodded and got off
Back to the puppies
Or back to no life at all
The sun beams down
The coyote walks
harlon rivers Oct 2019
Waning  dappled  moonlight mantles
the margin at the wild-wood edge
Stiff tufts of summer dried grass spears
sporadically sway — raking against
the  scarlet  poison  oak  leaves
gently sweeping away the moonlit silence
airing the sounds of velvet antlers rubbing
barkless mountain willow trunks bare

Subtle nuances constantly animate
twilights rhythm;  heaven flickers
upon a dark umbrage of forest pillars
softly as a candlelight’s  fluttering  glow
evanescing  half way  across  the  sky;
the  sparse  illumined  clouds  stream through
the lambent halo around the rutting moon
fleeting in the blink  of  sleepless eyes

and like the silent touch of a talisman,
transfixed eyes are entranced by all
the  restless  night  disrobes,
captured and cocooned by the seeker’s
awakened senses

An erratic,  familiar feral bark peals haughtily;
a pack of maturing spring pups yip, bellow and shriek
in youthful pursuit;  the howling report back,
ignited by the scent of a rabbit's paling squeal,
aroused by the pulse of brother wolf
rippling deeply through their blood

The dried grass game-trail crackles towards the ridge top:
an aging full moon is not enough skylight
to see beyond a seeker’s stirring silent reverie
the coyote choir’s sudden reveling echoes rekindling
an extraordinary sheltering intimacy within;

bending slithers of moonlight into a dull moonlight mantle
but I can feel its weight breaking me ,... forlorn I can't physically
reach out to touch them in an absolving moment  —
understanding love was always the purpose of being ,...

futilely repining — I  can't  face  myself  alone  again

            harlon rivers ... October  2019                                                  

Notes: a coyote moon

3am — eyes wide open — embraced by a presence that robes the night
gazing at the ecstasy of feeling nature's deep roots in my soul

Thanks for reading ... rivers
J'observe depuis mon télescope
Au-delà des nuages
Ta photo qui sautille
Et je suis les courbes, les points et les lignes
Et je trace des figures imaginaires
Les constellations
Et soudain tu apparais
Ultra Violette
Entre deux ciels
Tu me fais signe
Et m'invites à danser
Et je te suis comme ton ombre
Je retiens mon souffle
Je plonge dans le mandala
De ton champ de Cinabre
Je viens à tes côtés
Je m'ancre à tes eaux
Je suis ton lama, ton gourou
Et toi tu es ma parèdre, ma  bouddha
Ma dakini souveraine
et je te déshabille en dansant
Et je déboutonne une après l 'autre
Les étoiles couleur aubergine
Qui composent ta constellation.
C 'est une constellation disparue
Que seul moi puis voir.
Il m'arrive à l 'oeil nu de t'apercevoir
Au détour d'un rêve comme en cet instant précis
Et la musique résonne si forte dans l 'espace
Je vois tes lèvres bouger mais je n 'entends rien
Mais soudain tes yeux hurlent
et tu me clignes ton nom en morse :
dash dot dash dot
dash dash dash
dash dot dash dash
dash dash dash
C, une longue, une brève, une longue, une brève
O, trois longues
Y, une longue, une brève, deux longues
O, trois longues
T, une longue
E, une brève.
ALesiach Jul 2019
Just beyond the sunset
the day's end paints the red horizon
radiance of orange, yellow, and purple light
what a brilliant sight.

Scent of wood fires burning
a coyote's howl fills the air
the day's song is at an end
and night's lullaby now begins.

ALesiach © 9/24/2016
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