Caesura of Summer

Our friend cicada? Halting 
Its cranking only 

Long enough to let us know 
Our attention span wasn’t up 

To cranking along 
Long enough 

To catch up, too. 

Crepuscular Crescent Moon over Hellas

appearing dark 
orange out of the blue 
so to speak and low 
on the horizon 
and hightailing it 

lickety-split be- 
hind a jagged 
bank of even 
darker blue 
mountains till 

all that’s left is 
a slivery tongue 
of blood red fire 
that’s done with 
licking its wounds. 

Sublurbia

Ah, to be 
A sylvan living in

Sylvania—that carefree 
Sapling spirit never to be

Crushed by the crunch 
Of SUVs driven mad 

By pedestrian poets reeling 
Off their sappy rubber-

Stamped verses crashing 
Into tree after tree after tree. 

Guarding the Gates of 'Murica's Hell

Keep a right dead level head, 
Look alive and stay put 
In your proper place, gentlemen— 

Nothing but a lynch mob 
All these years, you thought 
You’d keep me broken, barking 

Your heads off up the wrong tree. 

Heads in the Clouds

Watch out you 

Strange, down-to-earthlings— 
Stare at us long enough, 

You’ll start seeing things. 

Adieu to Fancy, My Little Pigeon

So long as the eagle- 
Eyed crow flies 
Straight to the bloody 
Heart of the matter, 
One thing is clear, 
Dear—that lovey-dovey 
Pair of ash-grey neophyte 
Doves preening on 
The edge 
Of that buckling, 
Pale red-tiled roof 
Of the derelict, 
Decaying house 
Across the street 
Cooing you-ah-you 
Won’t be preening 
There for long. 

Heralds

angelic                     lights

           approaching

from                       all directions

             darkness           soon

                              imploding

from one still

                     fluttering within.