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Literature
a creation story
i. it is a time
of big peace
the strangest children
are at play in the neo-prairie
where the second peoples
seeded a native grass
named after the first peoples
no acidic thunderhead
or noxious gale will dull
their small sick body’s scampering
through stretches of wild indigo
& culver’s root
all these fresh souls
have not been on Earth
long enough to know
the hell it has been through
& are most frantically in love
with orb weavers
& parsnip butterflies
these divine children
do not care to distinguish
pollen from pesticides
as if they were
the last honeybees
on Earth
ii. it is a time
of great remembering
all these matriarchs
go binding together society
through communal chatter
& culinary delights prepared
in the fatback of feral swine or
the oil supremely pressed
of black walnuts
they drop spindle fur
plucked from great rodents
which sleep in the hollows
of lichen-crusted culvert pipes
& rear their young in the shelter
of collapsed automobiles
great greasy roden
:icongetbeneathmebird:getbeneathmebird
:icongetbeneathmebird:getbeneathmebird 63 23
Literature
an arc is an infinite number of straight lines
say i
& you too
like mad
we wandered
wherever
to god
& asked it to appear
& so it soul-sprouted out of earth
or spilled all star-dusted from heaven
or emerged from a gang of goliath worms
& was so splendidly riddled with prisms
or not
we saw god in marvelous feathers
of flaking gold or seven robes
of mica or divinely impoverished
with a putrid buzzard’s beard
or whatever
we were destined
to perceive
our phantoms of truth be
so distinctly two of these
that they must eventually
become one
see:
down inside the kuk, kuk & skow
crackling out each green heron beak
is a different sort of time
or now than is
grown within the roh-roh-roh & awk
of every great blue one
so
deep within a claw of bear
black & river-blessed
exists a unique air
of holy space
which is oh-so-never
alike that which is
sewn within a talon of owl-bird
silent & flying ready-spread
with fiery night-sky eyes
so
far along the sweet flag
patch of summer swords
withered & seeds to set
wea
:icongetbeneathmebird:getbeneathmebird
:icongetbeneathmebird:getbeneathmebird 81 16
Literature
out of Garden
what sea
how it is welling your eyes a wet mess
what tide
where urchins of the ocean will spill to howl their elegy
where mermaids will turn widows
once brine has swallowed whole their sailor babes
stewarding the land instead
is why i never set sail with you
but to lay in gardens, oh…
a bed sheet rotten by the ultraviolet
and our laps full of stars
what black soil will pervert your knees there
where moonlight will mirror out from your teeth
to run fanatic toward cosmic space
after bathing in the space among us
where walking air pushes every dust
one of sun-dried butterflies
one of beaten rug with broom
one of honey bee’s minus harvest
one from sands of human crust
when traced is an orb monster, Jupiter
around your left breast, so that nipple…
a blood storm just under the skin
and asking where you sowed the marigolds
is only to hear you choke the words time and water
in the same sentence
to hear you say there will be no rain for a week
while an ocean is
:icongetbeneathmebird:getbeneathmebird
:icongetbeneathmebird:getbeneathmebird 169 39
Literature
owI
the owl is this
and there its fist
with feathers
such owl of bard,
preying poet bird
with a mask to grow
so nocturnal its face
its place a bloody beak
to speak its danger song
rat-eater, lover, wingspan
and talon-fingered claw
creature to hover around
all and each
wound of trees
easily to kill a rodent supper
if you will align yourself
into a star
i will
:icongetbeneathmebird:getbeneathmebird
:icongetbeneathmebird:getbeneathmebird 8 8
Literature
memories, making glorious mud
his memories are making a glorious mud
i.
it is a lumberjack's wife whose veins are budding twigs,
arms feeble as every dried branch to soak a shining star.
it is her who bares such troubled wrists for oven mitts,
so ardently delivers her hoggish assembly some hulking bird
whose body cavity is crammed tight to the sphincter
with a spiced bread. instinctively, she goes for the knife.
there is some raucous applause as she serrates
its oiled, peppered and flightless skin and on
into its succulent chest meat as every spectator
dreams of flying. her blade burrows farther in
and under enough to dredge up a pinkish marrow,
where she stops, lets the carver out
to start again from the beginning...
no lumberjack lives here,
no whiskered axe-man wakes to the rooster.
a daring cedar deadened him flat as toads who nap
beneath some winter stones. his brain was stapled to earth
with a mighty red branch and there have spread rumors.
the truth? his memories are making a glorious mud.
ii.
:icongetbeneathmebird:getbeneathmebird
:icongetbeneathmebird:getbeneathmebird 137 24

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:iconshotgunmessiah:
shotgunmessiah Featured By Owner Mar 22, 2017
ever been to canada?
Reply
:icongetbeneathmebird:
getbeneathmebird Featured By Owner May 16, 2017
no sir. you residing there these days?
Reply
:iconshotgunmessiah:
shotgunmessiah Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2017
so far
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:iconaaaaaaaahhhh:
aaaaaaaahhhh Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2013
you damn well better get off yer fanny and write.
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:icongetbeneathmebird:
getbeneathmebird Featured By Owner Sep 19, 2013
done :)

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:iconaaaaaaaahhhh:
aaaaaaaahhhh Featured By Owner May 30, 2014
Kisses!
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:icongetbeneathmebird:
getbeneathmebird Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2014
back atcha. hope you are well these days. :)
Reply
:iconcritmass:
critmass Featured By Owner Apr 26, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
modern guilt
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:icongetbeneathmebird:
getbeneathmebird Featured By Owner Sep 19, 2013
great album
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:iconscreamandsugar:
screamandsugar Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2012
you promised words. they haven't been recieved. fix it.
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