Blackbird- Renga Poem

The pen squats between

my finger and thumb.

Still. nothing.

A blackbird swoops in,

swaying like a drunken sailor.

His silky hands- confused.

Whack. An empty bottle

of Jack Daniels

wobbles on its heel,

crashes into the sink.

He gawks at his

new world,

a young man

on his first travels.

Wings of coal,

smooth waves of oil, airborne.

He chills

on the couch,

the sun

slides across his face,

smudging light

on his lucid specs.

His presence, my prayer.

A long hallway to write

and let it out, let it be, let it go.

Contempt

The winter’s teeth sink

into the plate of my sacrum.

If, if the earth could carry me,

I’d migrate to your garden.

A crow has devoured my dream.

Will I ever hear your laugh again?

The calendar wilts unconscious. A drunken

mass of lines, moons, numbers and days.

The furnace jerks alive with contempt.

I feel, I feel, I know its exhausted breath.