where crows go to bury their dead

a tight jawed loon that’s what i’ll be

silently i will slink

behind the dying ugly trees

they die like a Shakespearean villain

across from the dirty river

their dusty peeling trunks

looking like they wear shoes

but its only beige mushroom caps

growing from an addict’s turd

ant trail metropolis up and down

the droopy branches bound by old cassette tape ribbon

the sugar burdens on their little thorax

weighing just as much

as the burdens on my curved shoulders

obscure illusions and esoteric lies

the native boulders akin to WCF’s face

emblazoned with red stripes and nonsense

the names of petty thief street artists

stretching down from the lived in hill

where crows go to bury their dead

dime sized nettles in my unkempt hair

will tangle with the strands in silence

and with a little time

the thorns of broken thoughts ruptured memories

will burrow even deeper

like wet mud i step into it

but quiet i will be

be silent the people have spoke

a stone chorus in space

i hear them on cold nights

they are getting colder by the way

i’ll glance beyond the conniving lights

alone out of the way and in silence

the birds would sound

Baker Beach fog cold wet knees

sand deep cut wrists

knuckles bleed

cold sea wind seeps

into the cracks of the spirit

was around the time

we broke our peace

seagulls screeched wildly

above our coal black energy

you the pulling south

i the fleeting north

umbilical cord

severed forever

Artemis took this orphan in

taught me how to hunt

other creatures

such as i

for crazy cannibalistic 32182314155 rites

and wandering in every downtown desert

dawns spent in tunnels bent

from the neck down

every now and again

the birds would sound

toasting to paired up

cooing doves

that have flown away from me

cooing sounds of city pigeons

January

cold restless

eyes opened

limbs clasped tight into the womb of the donated forest green love seat

two suns and one absent moon ago

there you were in faded cotton gown

bleach rough by the sanitation bound

gasping and heaving

not too different

to the cooing sounds

of city pigeons

i never thought that you would go

as i expected that you were fighting

now

so much time has rushed on

and late tonight

while i write this for you

i wonder

were you crossing the Styx

neck deep

tell me

does that river ebb and flow

like your spirit and your soul

is the current soft

do the little waves embrace your ankles

like precious jewels

time split the light in two

we both took in your make up bag

i the incorrigible one

mumbled unsanctified Kaddish

not finding the words

no matter

YHWH had cupped

broken and trite utterances

from my mouth