the green light after the storm

fades off

the black clouds

fold back like the ears of a dog

Years ago,

I heard about this book

called “Art and Fear.”

I know that I should read it,

but I’m

just so scared.

Years ago,

I heard about this book

called “Art and Fear.”

I know that I should read it,

but I’m

just so scared.

The Death of an Anonymous Pigeon

Soles cracked

Feathers chafed

The last cigarette

Stuck in a lone

Clubbed

Foot

It's not so bad

Not any different

Than any other day

The hoarse cackle

Proptotic eyes

Flanked by mucous

Red with infection

Dried out by insomnia

No clean water

Once anonymous in groups

The flock wrapping

Around each one individual

A shield to the reality

Of the inevitable

Loneliness

The uncared for

Uniqueness

Of chewing gum

Pressed black

By passing feet

On sidewalks

Of tombstones

For the unknown

Now all alone

The scabs don't disgust

Only hurt

The phlegm

No longer embarrassing

Only a reminder

Of internal

Surrender

The sun's too bright

To die alone

Is not unique

You die with others

Who died alone

It's only lonely
To die alone

But a death

Of another

Anonymous pigeon

Is no crime

Against the world

It's not profound

Hardly noted

A step off the curb

Into a puddle

A grey cloud

Passing the sun

It's only that

An anonymous death

An anonymous death

Another anonymous death.