poetry
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Bird Flew for Robert Trammell silent as sentient shade a colossal crow wheels golden eye over Mecca and drops something it has stolen from its beak sometimes when I walk down the Lakewood’s sloping sidewalks I see your reincarnated corpse skin shriveled as a shaved scrotum ants crawling over unblinking eye and I stand here
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As If for Robert Trammell As if the breath of a poet could resurrect the dead bird silently decomposing in the slate colored street. The curb ascends, a tombstone for so much road kill; a squirrel here, a cat there, somebody’s whistling calling a dog that cannot answer but this mourning the bird with Verona
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Dead Baby Blue for Robert Trammell Beware, Life is not a dream even when dead birds lying drunkenly in the gutter suddenly straighten Verona feathers stand on broken feet of poems vomit a gut full of idealistic maggots eyes swimming against the … bone, (alabaster, ivory, eggshell, porcelain, pearl,) undertow of parasitic insights bitch-slap the
Joey Cloudy online 