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The Crows

My lover is learning the local crows.
He's hammered a bowl stand in the earth.
He offers them clean water and he throws
Bread and crackers out upon our yard's dearth.
Just that easily they took advantage,
Not just crows but the woodpeckers as well
As the thrashers and the finches manage
To snatch up a morsel and drink a spell.
But the crows are those who impress us most—
How swiftly on branch or rim they alight,
How they caw abroad to their greater host;
They once brought their own pizza to the site;
Then this—they introduced a younger friend
By feeding them some bread we left for them!

Lovely Loyalty

Lovely Loyalty, I'm glad you still laugh;
I'm glad you still hang out with Steve and Wish.
I saw you the other day on the half
Of the pond where laundry's done, and in bliss
Knelt down to give oats and take your picture.
It was here where you and your brothers hatched.
While some have moved on, you've been a fixture;
Today I find you with young Wish attached.
Then other times you're with your brother Norm,
Who seems to have moved next door as it were,
Where the rains cause a small pond to form
Behind that lot. Last time he didn't stir 
From his nap, though I did see him out there.
If there weren't cameras I'd stop and stare.

Steve! (and George!)

I didn't realize my initial luck
When I returned to the pond to receive
Your greeting, thinking you another duck;
But it was you I dreamed of meeting: Steve!
I didn't see you on my last visit,
And the time before you seemed out of sorts:
You didn't eat; so it is exquisite
Having you run to me with laughs and snorts.
And you too darling George! Having you back,
Creation's refrain shall ever resound
In euphony like the ducklings who track
Mama, squeaking and frolicking around!
Steve and George, thank you for being friendly
And treating the tiny ducklings gently.

Razor’s Kiss

Oh I have never loved the razor's kiss,
But a sharper childhood's crazed example
Wrote its lessons on adolescent wrists.
I'm what's left after the flames are trampled.
Is it rebirth for those who never lived?
Seemingly this ultimate weapon's curse
Is its dual-edged blade; between the ribs
The killing intellect is reimbursed.
Yet the fire of the mind ever rises.
Ashborn children may have been their own prey,
After so many daily demises 
Perhaps falseness's dross was burned away.
I never loved the wounds of my feeling;
I still hate cuts, but I love the healing.

The little gift I have of tongue

The little gift I have of tongue,
And a bit of literacy,
Pantomiming a sweet machine
That never more farfetched were flung.

The honey that is my body,
In the monument skull made full
For one esoteric instant,
Is the blood spilling from the bull.

Words have lost their magic power,
So it seems, when charged by passion.
How to fuse incantations, touch,
And identity? It's too much!

Oracles

Only those who can dwindle themselves down
Receive the revelation of horror.
Prospective seekers must enter the ground,
Harrow the depths of the ancient borer,
In order for the god's madness to pierce
Cryptic chambers predating humankind.
In the darkness of the cave lurks fierce
Negation of the new, illumined mind.
Inhumed in a grave within another,
Time stops, movement arrests. Everything, all
Is inert. His hymn of silence smothers
Adepts in their mortal clockwork's recall.
Trophonius wrenches senses inward,
Electrifying Orpheus' vineyard.

Words/Actions

Words of an action and actions of words
Are vessels swathed in seas of intention.
Neither are law and either are deferred
To in conflict's caustic condescension.
Nothingness stranding an eternal core,
Enveloping the wildfire of the soul,
Extinguishes hope with a silent roar.
Divide me from the warmth, leave me in coal.
Over the sheer precipice of desire,
Riots break out in free fall to dictate 
Being as a tool in fulfillment's mire,
Opens distinctions on which to fixate.
Tell me, or won't you, that I'm beautiful;
How's my faithfulness inexcusable?