for the raven
who blows out
his head feathers
to attract a sweetie
like a black-leathered
Fonz he mumbles
an off-color pickup line
that cocks her head
before both spot
the ham sandwich
on pumpernickel
lying by the dumpster
as I leave the
deli’s parking lot
I wonder if he’ll
have enough class
to buy her lunch
it’s clouds I dislike when my soul is cold and hope must search in their shadows it’s clouds I need to force a houseclean or at least reduce the dust on my library of regrets it’s clouds I browbeat if
if you don’t care about the characters your heart falls asleep? life is no different anyone that tumbles into a well needs only confess regret and plead their deepest need to awaken neighbors who thro
notice our serious tones come in lower octaves confessions emerging in a guttural grovel while playful ones range much higher a joke rockets out and up and laughter spirals with it one stays in gravit