Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Hawk Season Notebook #365

Hawk Season Notebook #365

Six Windows Inward

A dancing, juggling bear....
Religious candles and other confiscations at borders....

The near-abroad would be....
By contrast: floral dreams.
And non-objective poetry would be....

No one ever invited you home to praise a collection of Elvis commemorative booze bottles.

Evocation of the past... someone singing Moon River.
That kind of romantic inquiry.
And the now-pretentious,
hollow sound of Richard Burton... Camelot.

A line of dusty moonglow junipers...
most of the branches dead.
Your mother's father, The Tatar,
broke other men's ribs and vertebrae,
cut off fingers for keepsakes,
I don't wear machine-made shirts.
Today, on weedy ground near the front of the house...
pale yellow-red, early October cherry tomatoes.

Night wind... you hear a voice,
But I ain't done nothin'.
A roadkill porcupine... sent knocking on doors.

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