|
107 in Sunland |
sun gnaws on dust
and sprinkler-fed lilies;
it pinches ants
till they riot,
irascible manic flames.
crows squawk
at the heat riding
their onyx. all day
they've gloomed the phone wires,
cursing at beads
on an asphalt abacus.
only jacarandas
redeem this hell-tinged town,
drizzling soft flakes
to dust the curbs
blurry purple.
a fat owl hides
in the crook of one trunk,
skin same as bark,
face more knothole
than the coffin it will be
when evening unveils
a platter of voles.
copyright 2007
Chris
Crittenden |
