thoughts & prayers
for Parkland . . . and so many more
seventeen more
black arm bands
on a nation’s soul—
yet the guns stand erect
as the coffins go down
NRA
blazoned across his back—
I look
for the blood
on his hands
on foolscap,
I write letters
to my Senator—
thirty pieces of silver
jingle in his pocket
~Atlas Poetica 32, spring 2018
whistling in the dark
a meeting
of the Flat Earth Society
in my state capital—
looney birds roosting
in the Land of Trump
from the throne
of a naked emperor
torrents of words
like day-blind bats
twitter across the sky
on the radio
the usual blather
about causes
of gun violence—
a wren burbles in the frost
worshippers
kneel in a river
of blood,
lifting clasped hands
to the god of guns
bereft of words
I kneel and listen:
lullabies
in falling snow
the silent sparrows
emptiness—
the discarded bottle
in my hand
sings at every step
the wind’s low note
deer entrails
at the meadow’s edge—
I divine
the will of the gods
in a chickadee’s whistle
~Atlas Poetica 32, spring 2018
