[185]

signs

the dog and I are the only ones
who know what’s coming
she’s got bat ears winged forward
while the tornado
whistles against the wheat

the oaks sing choir songs
green-leaved hallelujahs
spiders leave their posts
for higher ground
tomorrow the trees
will be strung with
desiccated love

watch the scuttle of sharp tongued
creatures beneath the bones
of the soil
ask the blackbirds why
they have stopped to crow
ask the marmot or the mongoose
if the stars are eggs
where you began

there are things the dead
want you to write down
it’s time to sit your ass
in the chair and be done
with what matters

~

It’s August, MotherFuckers! 

Image of art in Jewel Box. I can’t find the author’s name, sadly.
Words fast-fast-fast.
Ears On Home. The song, not the place.
Time Taken five minutes.
Brain On so much to do, so little time.

  

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This entry was published on August 13, 2012 at 10:57 am and is filed under August, Poems, Seattle, Self-Portraits. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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