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Friday 18 April 2014

Michael S. Begnal

from A Colony of Ticks
Crows in proximity
to town,
black-strung wire phones
their sort of squawks—
ain’t caws and
if you free a crow from distress
s/he will acknowledge
having peered
into your eye
back into forests
as if a dream,
the tribe’s community’s
peninsular complex
rising into the air
above the bay
(like I have been / in
a tribe
in the forest)
compose in the dark
lying on your back
in what is seen
as a cell,
in one of them,
a physical place,
i n
h e r e
     and along
the composing halls,
dark tunnels
by poets
on the beds that line the walls
having taken
bites of the brown loaf
     of leaves
[outside] on the
shut-up white windows,
soft light on the soft screen
shades reflect the light
and later red shines on
what appears
as a cabin in the woods
the body ’comes numb,
pomes of flying
cross the hills
and mountains
light on the branches below
short poem
jewels of thought
ink paw prints
in space


Michael S. Begnal has published the collections Future Blues (Salmon Poetry, 2012), Ancestor Worship (Salmon Poetry, 2007), and Mercury, the Dime (Six Gallery Press, 2005). His blog site is located at

1 comment:

  1. Michael, nice bit of work. Lots of tension and great sounds. Love the strike-out in the last stanza, ending with the "p" sounds of the last 2 lines.