–Evan Kennedy

 –Dawn Lundy Martin

(with lines by Brent Cunningham and Nicole Wallace)

the first false spring is here
the dirty snow is melting
we birds
arch our neck for the worm
believe in turning a blind eye to get it
we molted too soon
spring was receding ever as it tempted us
to deal in cryptocurrencies
& mt. gox is bust.
 
we birds fly into
the orange sky illumined
against the gray flash above the marcy st. projects
—little one breaks flock—
how long do I have to stay in character
 
the sun—finally—bore no resemblance
to the one who floated before us all asteam with moxie
the last time a human stood, nose quivering
against the scene of devastation
 
a firetruck whose wheels spin out
profesh-grade portraits that speak in fish language
who can distinguish between civil, nautical
and astronomical twilight
 
I, rockdove, I, seagull, rat of the sky
worm winged like an eagle
am told I am getting
more of everything
more cake
more worms
more orifices and things to go in the orifices
 
two horses succeed where the truck failed
despite their clumsiness and their face blindness
I lost my fortune to the wild boar what gored me
I pressed my eye to the keyhole and fell away
the scientist was pointing to the tell-tale snow leopard scat
saying ‘from my own species-perspective, I salute you’
 
aren’t we all just worms in the wind
trying to stick ourselves to a branch?
‘you’ll know it’s cold when the mountains turn blue’
lizard that looks like a dandylion
beatle that looks like a rock
whos skill in catching fishes
like water off a duck’s back,
only a bear in the river shaking its coat
 
bear with a fondness for fishes
bird with a fondness for crabcakes
river that flows both ways
 
painful rube in the shallows
don’t know how to smoke fuck drink
eventually was made to eat the meat
 
Shakespeare had a sovereign not a sister
I said to the dog, you’re every creature
and-if-the-stars-do-seem-in-night-to-prate
who prefers the springy grass to the salted concrete
 
we birds go down to the milky river,
between the ochre cliffs
knowing life depends on the consumption of bodies by other bodies
an arm or a channel or a valley reveals itself
parched begonia
long suffering aloe
to top it off, it was the end times
one bird called it ‘la grim de la grim’
 
candles were conveyed
—mm placed—as if a gift
gazelle-predator
predator-gazelle
a snow leopard in snow
the whole thing was a mare’s nest
students place classes in a ‘shopping cart’
 
now it was a drone
now it was a gnome
that sat itself on a rock
that cd disappear itself at will
that seemed to dispense wisdom
 
saying things like, ‘picture a collie
made entirely of melons—
melon-collie’
the face, the face of the one that took your meds
 
I love not snow leopards the less
but birds more
converted into aversion
converted into a version
 
march is by turns a lionish lamb, a lambish lion
uncouple us from our crime
where castles are horses
objects for fire or war
kiss us on our split lip, our bloody snout, our bent beak
something wicked this way comes
books will be made of oblong coal
styluses of liquid metal
 
I know what the story is supposed to be
and supposedly my place innit
by the time it was not supposed to have mattered
I had given up my crumpet
and the creature that climbs on the high crags
something-saint-mary
 
nor will we use technology
nor will we hook up from where we’re sitting ten feet
across from each other
who is the creature itself and not its avator, at least for now
the mountaintops don’t flinch
as the avalanche gets going
 
we birds do not pluck at the
cakes given to osiris
on that eastern side of the narrows
whos hair was thought to be made of lapis
 
in the end, we all had to eat worms.
in the end, all we had to eat—was worms.
in the end, we all had worms to eat.