Monday, July 25, 2016

Hawk Season Notebook #79



Hawk Season Notebook # 79

Dust and noon headlights, road-weary... doused in a low water pressure motel shower, that man's next line of work might be in the gathering of ditch-strewn roadkill ribs, skulls, and vertebrae... bones for grinding... tooth powder in the coming age.


Sunday, July 24, 2016

Hawk Season Notebook: 78



Hawk Season Notebook #78

No one expected you to live... not long enough to kindergarten finger-paint. Weak heart. Giant lung cyst. Before you were dragged away screaming to have your right lung butchered-out, you were dressed in white trousers and a wool coat, shiny leather shoes... positioned for snapshots: at a lake for swans, on a kiddy spring-horsey, sitting on rough board back steps in a garden. You were taken to see a Cisco Kid movie. You asked for a sombrero and a set of red-grip cap pistols. No sombrero and no pistols. More fake-play photographs before surgery: Animal Crackers... jelly bean bribes for half-smiles.

Friday, July 22, 2016

Hawk Season Notebook #75



Hawk Season Notebook #75

Pawns always bank on an ambulance arriving in time.

Hawk Season Notebook #74



Hawk Season Notebook #74

You find an old rubber batting tee, tape white socks into lopsided balls, choose a 32-inch thin-handle P72 Louisville wood bat for arthritic-shoulder, loose-belly back pasture swings at ancient pitches. Anger warps salvation. A noon thunderstorm passes. A hawk plunges from the sun... wings on a grief-wind from some god's breath.


Thursday, July 21, 2016

Hawk Season Notebook #69



Hawk Season Notebook #69
Winning

Early evening cell phones on vibrate,
a circle of grey-faced smokers on a drought-parched
funeral home lawn, heads bowed,
but not enough for a Stetson to fall off.

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Hawk Season Notebook #59



Hawk Season Notebook #59

Parked flat-penniless in a rusted-out old pick-up....

Hawk Season Notebook #61



Hawk Season Notebook #61

Buck moon for a second night. New Antlers. You pour a glass of never-tested cold well water. Some spend their lives backstage waiting for cues that never come. Tonight: reheated brown rice over wedges of cheddar cheese on sliced-'n-diced parboiled zucchini. A handful of shelled pecans. Now you are outside with the Wolfhound... waiting for her advice. The Wolfhound stands sentry. Coyotes are after something in your neighbor's irrigation-soaked pasture. A coyote blues choir. You feel less frayed.