eagles toppling mountain goats

he came up on an eagle on a sandbar looking over his shoulder bloody beak dripping with dead cormorant...

he came up on
an eagle on a sandbar
looking over his shoulder
bloody beak dripping
with dead cormorant

it lost the gaze
and flew up and away
leaving him to wonder
about the falling man, t
in the newspaper, h
or was it real life, e

fear is a lesson, f
she taught him well, a
bloody anus of a child, l
a child a child the child, l
with the dinosaur dream, i
again again again until, n
he never figured it out, g

the neanderthals, m
outside the window, a
in the trees, n
squatting, posed
watching
him dream

have you seen the videos?
eagles toppling goats
from the ledge of
the empire state building

mesmerizing wasn’t the push
wasn’t the eating of scapegoat
was the long slow long slow
falling falling falling
in a dream
the long slow long slow
waking waking waking up
falling down

the calculation
topples the mind

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the view (from here)

screaming motorcycles encircle my house triggering a fear of the dangers of daring to be young again on top of that all the birds a round here are refusing to co operate i remember leaping over the handle bars and painting the street with several inches of my fore head

It's All One Story

I am not a disciplined writer. I don't even like to call myself a writer. I don't get writer's block. I get writer's fright. I've said this before. Why does writing frighten me? Because when writing, I can't lie. I can't hide.

i bargained for salvation

i used to by opium from a guy who wore renfaire clothing and always made me listen to him sing 'shelter from the storm' i just cut ties with a grifter poet who'd been grooming me for a few months, i don't know what