Crow's feathers like
The exoskeleton
Of a long-nose weevil,

The color of
Mom's grease-stained
Pots illuminated in moonlight.

They're a mind
That's gone dark
With a tunnel straight through,

Like a billion
Ants all piled
On- throbbing

Can you hear
Them *******,
Hear them slurping?

Those oily wings
Writhe in air like bodies
Launched from 90-story trade buildings

They close their eyes;
Sleep forever
Bathing in crow's feathers.

I'll dance in the graceful moonlight
I'll sing with the mourning crows..
I'll walk with you at midnight
On routes we seldom go.

We'll walk away to Rome.
I'd love to go with you.
Anywhere is peaceful there
My eyes leak fresh morning dew.

I look into your eyes, waiting
For a response to me.
Hoping you'll smile back down
And use the pronoun 'we'

My heart swoons, creeping
Along at lazy pace
And finally speeding up again
When it's me whom you embrace.

After sitting next to you,
And staring at the stars,
Finding constellations,
And mapping adventures far,

My eyelids close then silently,
And in your arms I fall under.
Now sleeping peacefully,
My dreams pique wonders.

A piece
of a ouija board
sits in the Los Angeles River
as the inky crows squawk nearby

I pace
along this polluted trickle
of a river
as the crows flutter by

Apace
a runner darts near
without his mask
I shudder

Ashes
ashes
we all
fall down

The cairns are mothered
by murders of crows—

four stones as black as raven eggs,
others sky blue with specks of black,

pointing this way to heaven,
pointing this way to hell,

or is it to Tecumseh’s grave,
the bones of all buffaloes?

But then crows are great tricksters,
erecting spoof vortexes, medicine wheels.

They see everything at ground level,
the new landscape under their feet,
the old air lifting their wings.

They revel in the unbalancing
of everyday things

the sun, the moon,
the earth, the sky.

They will flip flop when all are asleep
and flop right back in the waking dream.  

Crows know the cairn formed
where Cain and David’s stone’s fell,
where Jesus dare not cast the first one.

They know what happened to those
who stole the middle stone
causing the soldier to come,

the ones who rose when
their gravestones were removed,

the ones that mark where
the things of life are buried,

even the feather cairns that line
to the final game jump.

Two ebon crows got drunk last night,
Pecked their way into a fight;
Feathers flew as they clawed and cawed,
Till the losing crow pulled a gun in spite.
The other bird flew off in fright,.
Returning with a murderous flock,
And circled the gunner, a fierce gamecock.
They fluttered and feathered in a spree,
Then flipped before two crows winged off.

They returned with hair from a dead man's chest,
And proposed the two should build their nest.

They fashioned tools from human fingers,
Framed the nest with human femurs;
Used two green eyes to glaze windows;
Make a two car garage from the nose.
Are these not two of the smartest crows.

Next they laid out the toes
As hinges to swing their doors closed.
Each crow brought back an ear,
To hang on hinges, front and rear.
They peeled off lips, once used to talk,
And paved a route as their sidewalk.
They  yanked out teeth like skilled SS,
To tile bathroom and kitchenette.
Lastly, they peeled back the skin,
And wallpapered their nest,
And lived within.

See what's achieved by two drunk crows,
Who settled their scores
After crow blows.

dark sketch
of dancing whispers
mock the sky
lift your wings
to caress
the screaming shadows