October Poem 25: The Specter of the Nue

Thin wisps of black smoke lay low in the fields.

They disperse almost as quickly as they

Formed. Their haze in the tall grass that has gone

To seed. The smoke gathers thickest in the

Brown grasses that eventually die back

To black spots of earth bare like life in the

Old house with the odd shingles hanging loose

From long years of wind. She couldn’t help him

Or leave him now. But she can watch from her

Perch in the branches of the unkempt wood

Abutting the old property. She could

Float through the weeds and up out of the ground.

She could watch and choke him with her fumes. Cursed

To make him suffer for the love she holds.


August Poem 35: Shadows of Life

By the time of the fresh green pine. The trees.

They stood in their full spring. In their tender

Branches. They reached straight up as if pulling

Some unseen mark. The years of new growth seen

Only with time to look. Both the new green

And the two men in dark suits. Of man. Birds

And eggs. Frogs. Mice. Rats. And snakes. Existence

Pulled out of their jacket pockets. Hidden

In plain sight. Circumcision. Prayer times. Day.

The sharp black and green parallel lines. Black

Copies of playboys. Off the top of my

Head, they don’t exist in nature. But they

State, come with us, the black and green of life

Your eyes can only pick out when it moves.

August Poem 14: Town Punch

Zinfandel servants write of the black. The

Black. Because of minimum luxury

Insulation. Opportunity. Black

Reader knows how to spot the adaption

They turn like television gangsters

The Colonization view of open bails.

Neshoba Central softball team captured

Candidates who have a ballot Tuesday.

Convinced voters cast absentee ballots.

Time willing recount these madly in love

And the adaptations cause directed

Our love, ourselves. We love town punch. We are

Blue Bic, your black butler with years of

Audience while all unknowable.