Distances

We matched distances—
parallel tracks of chilled air,
merging warm in touch.
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Jazz

Syncing into tune,
we whistle past the graveyard—
Stars, moon, all that jazz.
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Thirteen Ways of Visioning a Crow

I.
Remember that nouns, verbs and adjectives
are made-up things. Crows, on the other hand,
are real to life, and winged.
II.
Place a walnut at the edge of a curb.
Wait for a crow to swoop down
and take the bait.
Then, watch how it connives
to get inside the tough-to-crack walnut.
Capture this episode of savvy and desire
by snapping a series of photographs,
and when the crow flies away,
with or without the walnut,
reflect upon the nature of theft,
and which one, you or the crow,
is the guiltier of the innocents.
III.
Tape a pair of children’s scissors
to your nose (trying not to sneeze)
and run around outside while
cawing with deep religious conviction
until your throat is air-chapped and hoarse.
Then, stop singing, and look up
toward the clouds with a longing
that courses from the roots of your silence
to the edge of your scissors,
and feel yourself a bated crow,
winging its way home.
IV.
Whoever
coined the term “bird-brained”
obviously
mistook a mirror
for a crow
upon which he projected
humanly erred measurements.
V.
When you see a crow
bopping like a pogo legend of prehistoric bop
along the runway of coarse pavement,
do the same,
and enjoy an immediate upgrade
in your relationship to ground
and self.
VI.
Stare at a crow,
flying or perched,
and wonder why
the crow isn’t moved
to write about you.
VII
1..
2..
3…
4..
5..
6..
7..
8..
Nine—
There’s been a murder,
with the usual suspects
framing a most fearful symmetry.
VIII
Envision the crow
on a Roman or Florentine vase,
a Renaissance icon and model
emblazoned in the annals of artistic cryogeny,
then reflect upon how you were not there
when ______ fell,
or _____ was lost forever.
If possible, make direct eye contact with a crow,
and walk away feeling,
A) ashamed of the fact that you exist, or
B) strangely absolved of something or another.
IX
Train a mercenary cult of bees
to chase away crows
that have assumed the semblance of coven.
As the crows soar into retreat,
amidst a cacophony of cawing and buzzing,
think of witches, and how the world,
by grievous turns, cruelly mistreated them,
then do your best to call back the scattered crows
so as to seek a forgiveness
which cannot be given.
X
To eat crow
is a phrase synonymous
with raising the dead
to have poor table manners.
XI
Crows and chimps
are considered equals
in terms of relative intelligence,
yet only one of them
can fly into the air
to shit on the head
of someone upon whom
they have been patiently waiting
to exact calculated vengeance.
XII
Between this world,
and the next,
the status of liaison
may be claimed by a bird
that you denounced as a liar, thief and pest.
Be mindful now
so as not to be led astray
later.
XIII
In a wheat-field
screaming yellow,
the memory of bones,
and the reaped lore of crows,
as bred into gospel
by a force of nature
reckoned Van Gogh.

 

 

 

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Fools-Day

In honor of April Fool’s, and to all the world’s wise fool mystics, beautiful innocents, and cliff-diving dreamers:
To marvel dumbly,
and trespass,
with a sense of the infinite
backlighting a wink–
this, the way of the Fool,
or sacred is as sacred does,
when trusting the air
in its holy relationship to plunge.
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What You Can’t See

Sunset, beading flashfire sparks
and gilded symmetry,
upon the gloss-dark wings of crows,
who, in brazen observance,
caw with religious fervor,
an airing
of lyrics intimately
vested to the secret lives of children,
walking home, winged.
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Transformation

There are times
when it is necessary
for the body to become its own cradle,
a nest-fed rocking
and grave trembling toward
the loam of ceremony
and siege,
and while transformation isn’t easy,
if you listen closely,
tender ear to the asking silence,
you will hear your fragile seeds
singing softly in the birthing dark,
of the bowing rites which precede
the fanning of ancient-new wings
to air and rise.

Transformation-Phoenix1

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Starfucking

It was driving me crazy.
I couldn’t stand the teasing anymore,
the eternal seductiveness,
so I fabled right through the roof
and into the capacious night-sky
to be with the stars, those luminous coquettes
and avatars of celestial elegance,
on whom I’ve had a crush
since god knows when.
I need to be with you,
I screamed myself blue and hoarse,
as I ascended fast
but not fast enough
for what I imagined would
be the tryst to end all trysts,
a liason which would thoroughly exempt me
from mortal fetters and worldly considerations.
An abstract longing to know pure feeling,
and grow texturally intimate with realms unseen,
had followed me straight out of the womb
and into this worldscape, an unsayable something
which had formed and remained
a clawing tenant in the heaven section of my gut,
and though I had scored my life with a litany of haunts
and diversions, no more! the time had come
to fable, untethered, nonstop, into the raven-gloss pools
of nightsky, and to bring the metaphysical yes yes yes
back to impossible consummation.
I am, at present, still ascending,
while the stars continue dispatching signals
to guide me toward the pinwheeling whorls of white fire
and etheric milkbaths.
There is nothing quite like the lore of universal attraction,
its magnetic sway not for the faint of heart.
In drawing nearer and nearer to my heart’s desire
beyond known desire,
I pray to shed gracefully my mortal coils,
and find myself, unabated,
a natural kink in the inviolable symmetry
of spatial breadth and lay,
i.e., a lovesick orphan
coursed to home
and cosmic parlay.

vincent-van-gogh-starry-night-3077

(“Starry Night” by Van Gogh)
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Lit Trailers

A series of trailers that were created for two of my novels: Broken Land and Nocturne Variations (Unsolicited Press).
Videos and music by Anthony Distefano.

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Nursery Bones

A radio play by John Biscello, originally aired on KNCE (Taos).
Existential burlesque in which layers are peeled and the past/present/future converge in the name of love everlasting.
Featuring John Biscello and Kirry Nelson, with music by Ben Wright.

 

 

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Upstart Scarecrow

Spoken Word (John Biscello), Bass (Ben Wright)
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