five-fingered wing

i walk into the forest to

kiss the spirit of my heart.

i inhale the frozen oxygen

of a mid-december day. it

melts on my tongue and

flows into my lungs. my

eyes catch the movement

of gray fox behind the dying

ash. “mr. fox, you are getting

fat, are you sharing the bread

i leave you?” he grins and

growls and shakes his bushy

tail in the air. i lean on my

walking stick listening to the

persistent crow. “have you

brought me my corn and

cigarettes,” he asks in a

william burroughs caw. i

tip my hat to him and drop

them at his feet. in gratitude,

he drops a trinket shimmering

in the sun into my hand from

his five-fingered wing. the

canadians are dancing their

annual ballet across the sky,

singing a halleluiah serenade to

their loves. ground squirrels

scurry collecting walnuts and

acorns. they anticipate a long,

stinging winter. camouflaged

in gold ferns, they hide in the

shadows from the owl. it

saddens me to know their fear.

i disguise myself in the cherry

woods to escape the talons

of my enemies wishing to

rip the flesh from my bones.

i look for stones polished by

the spring that will soon be

frozen. my pockets are heavy

with their magic. the deer will

be feasting at dusk. the blue jays,

black birds, sparrows and cardinals

will join us too, the turkeys will

come and go as they please. we

will smile at the sleepy eyes of

the black bear. the selfish eagle

is a bigot and will not join us.

he has forgotten the names of

his mother and father. he is

always at war. if i climb the

pine tree i could see the

prairie where the antelope

play, the empty fields of a

good harvest, hear the

whisper of the wind, and

touch the grey clouds in a

hurry to welcome the moon.

the forest holds my hand. he

knows my secret ways. his

promise is to keep me warm

through winter and bless me

again in spring. i will always

trust the voice of the forest.

some days

my dog doesn’t have any balls

but he humps my other dog

all the time. i once planted

an oak tree that grew upside

down. my chickens all speak

german. smoking a cigarette

isn’t the worse thing i ever

done. i know what love is, i

never loved america. you can

sit in the dark just by closing

your eyes. there would be

more believers if jesus served

bacon with his wine. it’s sad my

self-worth is what someone would

pay for it, it’s sad i must earn a

living. i wonder if i was the only

person on earth what would i

bitch about. when it rains you

should never use an umbrella.

butterflies have rested on my

shoulder and whispered sweet

nothings into my ear. dead

people are the only people that

can be heartless. some people

think i’m dead.

i would kill the cat for him

he was sound asleep when

the cat snuck up and stole

his breath away. the cat

became buddha, and he

continued to dream loud

dreams and quite dreams.

i could be a thief and steal

a kiss from him. crawl under

his blanket and warm my

flesh on his. i will do the

time for the crime. if i wake

him i will feed him olives for

the gods of mount olympus,

and almonds for conjugal

happiness. when we walk

through the forest he will

be the trees. if we wade in

the alleghany he will be the

current. there are secrets

behind his eyes. he hears

voices no one else can hear.

he wins every war no matter

how bloody, pulls out cancer

by the roots. he has turned

the super moon inside out.

when he is silent thunder

rumbles. i accept this polite

torture of my desires. i will

kill the cat if he asks me to.

smoke ‘em if you got ‘em

i believe in god, cigarettes,

and everything is exactly

as it is. i approach every

temptation with my ears

wide open. i am empty of

delusion, distortion and

denial. my hell is always

the harvest of my prayers.

my poverty is self-inflicted.

i pay with home canned

pickles. my mirth is in the

perennial smile of the

seasons. my heart beats

in the eye of a hurricane.

my fingertips are sour. i have

eaten my pudding looking for

proof. there is nothing that i

lack. there is nothing lost,

everything can be found in

each breath i take.



there’s a

beautiful lady


the death rattle

is in her throat.

her heart

is whispering,

she is blind,

and no longer


her ruby red lips

have turned gray.

her bones

are brittle,

she only hears

the ghosts

of family singing.

her satin flesh

is melting.

the poison

in her veins

has taken

its toll.

the suffering

will be over,

the knots

that bind her,

will be loosened.


will carry

her away.

the world

will never

be the same.