untitled (20170413)

Maybe I’ll never post anything again so I can keep this at the top of my page. Crow, you kill me.

Words and Feathers

hope is the thing with feathers
despair is the thing with scales

i am the watermelon man
reduced to a slick white rind
my seeds swallowed on accident
or spit into the street
for angels to pick and peck at

eli, eli, i’ve been thinking

some days the color leaches
out of everything
some days the everything
tastes of pine resin
and trail dust

eli, eli

if you swallow a watermelon seed
one will grow in your belly
and then what will you do

always feed them to the angels
with the oil slicks around their necks
rainbow nooses

i’ve been thinking


It’s still National Poetry Writing Month!
Day 13

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9 thoughts on “untitled (20170413)

  1. Love the crowd
    Now I know why I hang around here
    Birds of a feather
    In one hand
    And a bush
    What a snort
    I’m ready for the day
    As Sheldon Always


  2. I love this! I often like going back to Dickinson and her poem about hope. I like responding to it, so I really enjoyed getting to read someone else’s response.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Ooooooo, do you have any on your blog? I always think that Dickinson’s poem hangs so beautifully off the first line. Nice to see it holding the scaffold of this work too.

    Liked by 1 person

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