Huron Cemetery Poems (I)

April 13th, 2018


The sun is out,
though western clouds
threaten death from above.
It is the stormy season.

I am listening
to the wind and M83
and eating lunch and thinking
of the dead supporting me.

Two robins eye my salad,
chirp, “The dead support us all!”
The wind howls like life,
blowing everything away.

Still those gathering birds,
with all their hollow bones,
keep moving toward me,
hungry look in their eyes.

They don’t mind the wind.
They don’t fight the clouds.
They understand what’s coming.
It is the stormy season.

Huron Cemetery Poems (I)

This Sunday in Kansas City, Come Get Your Sweetheart a Custom Love Poem

I’ll be at the Made Market, composing one-of-a-kind love poems at your request.

In other news, I took a longer-than-typical winter break from Devious Bloggery. Mostly because last year’s Waterwood project wore me out but also because sometimes you just need to take a longer-than-typical break.

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How are you? How’s your family? Are you staying strong in spite of the true retardation of American government? Are you watching your breath? Are you watching your neighbor’s breath? Has your neighbor stopped breathing? Shouldn’t you do something? Call someone? Put some clothes on first. You’ll likely be questioned.

This Sunday in Kansas City, Come Get Your Sweetheart a Custom Love Poem