Boys in Blackberry Woods
The sun hangs his hawk on a string, burning autumn rich
a kingdom… the trees sing: hand to mouth they’re struck
sensing deeper rides of appetite. Pied as piper insurgency
flights blood, brain ‒ they loiter edgily as if unearthed by
forest gods who grow each his cleft foot, horns ‒ manhood
in vessels too small; relenting, gods silence siren trees, put
spell on hold… a dream to keep close by, one day re-enter.
In the Cage
Escarpment levels out… a Dutch cheese moon rough-rides
the sky line. Singular in confusions of rock something odd,
box-like, becomes trap knocked up from strut and chicken
wire; I check it out - there’s a mountain crow inside, raggy
and wet, been here for days… if you are crow from egg you
do crow things, upset farmers who set clever traps… a war,
two actually, each in pursuit of survival: tonight’s dilemma.
On the Chancel Arch
The Judgement of course ‒ propaganda direct
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