Corvus

looking south
wishing on this night
to be the hand
raising sail
into astral wind

to lay on an ether deck
and think of nothing

rising only should
nothing emerge
a crow
and I
carrion

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

102914

it took
looking back at his
tracks to realize the
full measure of
banishment

how first they lead
straight from a horizon
stark and distant,
then turned aimless

the circles and
crosshatched frenzy
of unaccustomed solitude

trails left from
hopeless clawing
at the wind
to gather
discarded vows

each empty grab
reminiscent of
of a deathslide
mountaineer
in a struggle to crest
the crevasse rim

holding out that
somewhere beyond the ice
a poultice of forgiveness
was being prepared

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

102714

is this
how you envisioned
yourself noticed?

in a city,
in an urge
a building
just unveiled

corundum columns and
august to the bluffs

you rose well
funded if
light on cash,
acting
viced enough
to be banned to
plagiarized woe

a dice roll not unrefined
iridescence beneath
the varnish

the one thing
that made
me look up,
was when I thought
I heard you singing
from the exit

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

102514

1.
the size of the bus
was impressive, more so than
the class of the underground –
come to witness
the dance of the dead donkey

2.
he went for sushi
got only dust in his hands
conquered at his apogee

3.
the best of chickens
think by rule
obliged to bad juju

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

when remembering stops by

each given an end and
sent in different directions

the cord between us
thinning
with each step
toward our
chosen sunset

even now,
though mere microns across,
visible only to myself
and then
only
in certain light,

I’ll occasionally
send a vibration along
it’s unknown length
and stand still
as possible
for a moment

convincing myself that
the signal
will be received

it’s the sort
of thing that happens
when remembering
stops by unannounced,
clears the room
of the present,
puts his feet on
my coffee table
and shrugs

as if to say
no problem pal,
it’s just what I do

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

102214

coding evil
of a known
snapshot is
too distinctive
and combat is the
downside of enforced lockdown
the chair in his head
hurt as much as
being downriver from
clinical trials
it was
too much
for the unfit

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

the depths

every so often,
usually in the evening
when the only visitors
are a cold wind from
Canada and unwelcome
news from
the syndicates,
I will pull something from
the depths, dump it from
my neural netting
onto the carpet
and sit there

just me and this
prehistoric
bottom feeder
staring at one another
each trying to backtrace
a connection

he is
bewildered
and irritated
at my curiosity
wanting only to
return to his lightless
trench of the forgotten

I assure him
it wouldn’t take much
really,
a minute or two at
the bookshelves,
a late night call
from one of the kids
or the cat reminding
me of her obsession with food
and he would be gone again

and me?
I’ll probably be found
standing alone
with a book open
to a random page

mistaking my loss
for the draftiness
of just another old house
with too many
empty rooms

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

stoned cold farmacia

the curb
figured firm for
a query against a cubic jaw
rhinovirus
codeine
and a first toke invoked a backfiring of corrections

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

neutral drop

it was a rare find
that Dart with the 383

at the gathering
she told me
all she could hear
was him yelling
“red line!”

I can still see
the rooster tail of
#57 granite glistening
in the vapor light,

raining down
as the tie rod shit the bed

and the back wall
of the bus garage
forever ended
his mission
to impress

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

101014

so, you spit
out an extra coin and
step into the skiff

just another
debutant
not heeding
the edge of the stage

it could be considered
a smallish redemption
if you were to
relieve Charon
of his oar
for the length
of your crossing

even he may
deserve
occasional
reprieve
from monotony

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead