I thought Stromboli was done exploding, 

like hidden jars over the Pelice 

but there were a few lights left… 

Oh! They were stars looking like 

pinpricks in a filthy sheet! 

How lewd and lovely. 

I couldn’t quite see the man 

strumming the sawtooth-hammerhead 

shark, but I would know the sound 

of drowning on land anywhere. 

It goes well with butter. 

His face only bends a little each way 

but it’s like the universe was born 

in one of his happy crinkles. 

My gold has turned silver 

though there are times I wish it hadn’t. 

We believe in a vague destiny- 

part petals, potatoes, and prayer – 

with heavy hearts and light promises 

and though we try to turn fractals 

into something complicated, a fern 

will speak up and remind us to shut up.

Sixes and Sevens

He couldn’t reach her 

because it was too long 

what came between them 

She almost didn’t mind 

the wait in between 

because it was thrilling 

When it got too dark 

they counted on chaos 

with its sweet delay

Night. Moves.

The heads are talking without 

seeing or caring much 

about wind direction 

or how much pepper to add. 

I have some secrets 

that I wear openly 

but no one seems to get 

the codes or the patterns 

like plaid like trios like spirals 

bound to be plated with gravy 

with sides of sparkly faraway 

daydreams wearing corsets 

loosened with teeth by nightfall 

if the mind is willing 

and the flesh bends the right way. 

The moon says yes, please.

Tell me about your spiders,

the worries and triumphs

of their secret corner worlds.

Is there room for us to burrow,

listen to the whispering weave?

Corvid Zen

The conscious crow 

does not consider 

water on Mars important 

nor whether dogs have souls. 

A crow in the know does not need 

affirmation from strangers 

to feel worthy. 

The crow uses its wits 

almost wholly 

to capture worms.