Long Black fly Poems

Yes, Jose,
this is another love letter
from anthroprivileged me
to LeftBrain dominant you
for multicultural us.

I'm still here
sinking into my deep blue camp chair
with feet resting on a weathered
wooden platform
for my monastic tent

Now folded
and masterfully squeezed into its...

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Some folks just don't have a life of their own.
Some live on other's problems.
Some live on other's dreams, and hopes for the future.
Some live on just being the antagonist to everyone else;
They are the worst...

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Repressed, sombre colours
weep a blurry sadness.
Melancholic, metallic hues
bite a frustrated, untouched lip -
silently surrendering
crimson, golden spheres of promise…
They dissolve, shrinking to watery flakes,
melting to a near oblivion.

Lyrics pin hopes on a pointless map,
touching tender triggers
like...

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O'er fields strewn with harvested evergreens,
There ventured a marine from Queens,
His flesh were a slight inky, his clothing was ragged,
No more alive, flowing in dread and haggard.
 
All around him darkness loomed quite blue,
Once a...

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A humid day,
mosquito clouds swarm along
a red dirt road to the farm.
There are grimy rows of pig pens,
hazed dark by humming hordes
of black fly.

Bob (an old friend), chuckles.
“Man, you picked the wrong time of year
to...

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Dry leaves carpeted the floor,
'Any objection to the joining of these two?'
No answer,only the snake hisses and the bee buzzes,
Holy matrimony far from family members and friends,
in the thick forest of the western coast under...

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There’s an aching in my heart
Just in a little bit now Ill be ok
The black sheep constant game
Arrives and sails his sympathy in absent muse

They don’t see they are killing themselves
The sheer vanity of the...

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A black fly in midwinter
has burgled the warm air of the kitchen.

It struggles for height,
a brittle-winged air-bender
reaching for plateaus,
higher footstools,
grasping for spice shelves
or the slope of a slick cooker hood.

The splutter
of an over-revved engine,
the bolted...

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The invisible hand that rocks the cradle
Also rocks the grave
The invisible hand of Smith’s fable
From a poor hand many gave

Sow the seed of greed
Young indeed
For this is no ordinary cow feed
But that which makes guttersnipes...

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I see a bottle on a green
Royal marble mantelpiece
Behind a sheer screen
Dividing the abyss
Of hidden knowledge 
With a little black fly
Trapped forever inside 
She flies around in wide 
Circles all the time
Flapping her little wings
She...

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In the low pasture
cowbirds are picking over humming cow pats.

In the high sheepfold
lambs are dropping small round blueberries
that are really not blueberries
and the whirring beetles know it.

Black fly are in the barn swarming
over the hissing...

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