Witnessing

From my frost-webbed window I spy a white goshawk alighting a ledge;

And it swoops below making the kill, with not a pause or conscious thrill;

And in its claws a situationist rat;

My window melts from my hastened breath;

This is it, another death.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mash

And how lash like to be loudly brash in a cape stimulating the identity sneer; And how sneer like to be loudly lash in a cape stimulating the identity brash; And how brash like to be loudly sneer in a cape stimulating the identity lash; Then to the exit make a dash.  
Read more

In The Garden

Felled autumn leaves    On wet ground For rot to work With welcoming soil Whilst winds blow Bringing the rain into it Tempting wiggle worms Which will reap The good nutrients left And give dark soil A velvet feel A rich man’s smell. For in the gardener    Awakens a worker Keen to sow: And mature seed Will rise in bloom And stringed birds Serenade boon botany In la primavera All that is decomposing Rotting leaves Their yellow is gold Their black is carbon They’ve left behind Standing skeletons For kids to climb For sunshine to reveal What secret habits Autumns leave.  
Read more

The Energy

But for a measure of loneliness made impotent, who from loneliness is free? That in its confinement, its permanent disabling is what the heart desires, Aside the anguish and fear of the loss of one’s presence, perfectly loved, Yet, in the coveting of death, the ultimate end to the pain and misery of it, A truer friend is found, the self then is less doubted, its resilience fore-armed.
Read more