[x]

the hungry look...the hungry look,

the wolves
weaving through
and around
the gully of your throat like wraiths,

we can feel you rusting, lost one;

i know that drainpipes and fenders
begin to crackle after winter wet

and that there’s a touch of snow
in all of us,

but no one,
no one could hold you as tightly as you do,
your whole body, bloodless in this arrest,

and if you will not let your fetters show
i will show you
there’s a place for going, and you haven’t gone there yet;

where quantum particles, once in contact, can retain a connection
even when separated

where you
wander up to a stranger
with your shirt inside-out
and say &lsq

AntiquatedYour rose petal hips
Will always demur
To your ivory lace slip,
The stockings climbing
High on calves and thighs
Like a garden trellis
Near the blooming soul
Between your open legs,
The place where he
Could love you the most

Nonno's GardenIt’s strange to think that you’re not here anymore.

I remember when we were younger and we’d arrive to see you. The first place we’d go was to the window, pressing our faces against the glass to try and catch a glimpse of you. We’d look out, and you’d be there. Like you always were. In the garden.

Each trip was different, an adventure. There were rows of neatly sown lettuce seeds, bean stalks twice as tall as we were, ripe strawberries just waiting to be found by our greedy little fingers. Tomatoes would be taken and made into sauce, lemons would be squeezed to create limoncello, grapes transformed into

Attention Misha found America agreeable, for the most part – there was the Boston traffic, but it wasn't as bad as Moscow's, and the food was overly rich and too abundant. But the people of the city were positively warm compared to the Spartan attitudes he knew, he hadn't had a single dollar stolen from him, and the university kids couldn't keep their eyes off of him. Not even the boys. He'd heard catcalls walking by a gathering of young men, the kind he'd learned to call "bros." It was his hair, maybe, or the way stubble refused to show on his face: in America, you could be anything other people wanted you to be, it seemed.

He told Sasha about

Gnome Noir  "I did it for the money and I did it for the girl.
        Well, I didn't get the money – and I didn't get the girl."
::  Walter Neff - Double Indemnity
So I point the flintlock at the guy – and that's no easy thing, big musket like that on a little gnome like me – and I peer down the sight. Not many people know what it's like to stare at a man through a glass. But in those sacred moments, the whole world takes a breath and it's just you and him. I line up the shot, and I think about the girl, and--

What? That is the start. What do you want, Sheriff, my life story?

Alright, well, I'm Gniles Brody the Third – that's

MeanderingHardly a mountain, though on lowering days its head sits wreathed
By the mists of a passing front, aged and befogged as bygone elders
Doddering about – before there were names for the malaise
That hazed their thinking
And from this modest crown there slouched and sloped
A long shoulder, meandering down to meadows below
Pausing now and again to coddle a pleasant hollow
Casting a sloping pitch – enough to rush a torrent
After a sudden shower
Seldom pooling
Its glint and glimmer burble among the stones
To join a rill and plash and swirl and putter about a root
It's there I'm apt to wander

Not much of a path, hard passed a

CharlieWe're all just kids playing a part. That's what it boils down to.

I'm the kid who gets to play hitman today. The other kids, they're playing guard. Hands in their pockets, feeling up their guns. Makes them feel big. Calms them down. A security blanket in a holster.

That's what it boils down to. Dressing for the part, having the right props. If you're running around in your street clothes, you're a thug, a hood, a gangster. You put on a ninety-dollar suit you picked up at Ross, and all the sudden you're a mobster, a wiseguy, paisano.

You're still just playing Cops and Robbers, Cowboys and Indians, Thugs and Mafiosi.

Rule of three.

Survival of the IllestAre those hints of lemon I detect?
Look, I'm just here to get wasted, don't try
to make it more than that.

I'd drink motor oil if I thought
it could get me high; chase it with a shot
of antifreeze
so
you can keep your survival instincts,
locked up
in that pretty velvet box (along with all
those other things
you thought you could convince yourself
you lived for). Instincts are the bare
bones of the impossibilities we wanted
to believe in,
remember,
those times you tried to tell me that
adrenaline was God's way
of saying
that
we were His chosen ones, we were
special, we were free.
I tried to tell you that instincts an

grassy field with rustgrassy field with rust
--------------------------

I'd heard about the old car, three miles out of town and all alone. I just had to see it. It was time. School was over for the summer, my friends were at camp, and I was bored. I set out Thursday morning for a hike, following directions that Uncle Will had given me. As the heat was still growing with the climb of the sun, I found the field and wandered around looking, and looking some more, trying not to be distracted by bees buzzing in the flowers, and butterflies and baby mice. Then it was there, just a bit upslope from the bottom of a natural swale, and just below the sky at th

tree, fiddler crabIt took days to hollow out the soft parts
of the trunk, dig out the tree-flesh and sap,
polish the raw wood so that when he sat,
there would be no splinters. He carved his name
into the side, like a blessing, a declaration
of good fortune, and stowed his forest inside.

The Long WindOverhead, the scratched Perspex of the canopy has been pulled down and latched into place. The pilot, sat in the back seat, gives the thumbs up and the ground crew step back. Off in the distance, the small black speck of the winch puffs exhaust smoke causing the cable hidden in the grass to snake wildly. Drawn taut, the glider jumps then bounces and judders across the field.

Suddenly, there is calm and all that can be seen ahead is the clear blue of a summer's evening sky. Off to the side, the horizon tilts at a crazy angle, slowly levelling out before the cable comes free, falling away. The glider bows once to the land below befo

terminali.

we landed in oklahoma
and drank cheap martinis in the terminal;
you carried my guitar and fell in love
with my voice but not my tongue,
not my hands.

ii.

there's a man with a garage
that looks like a plane because nothing
meant more to him. will you make a model
of that bar? will you make a model
of my red cheeks? or will you live in a townhome
with her and three children?

iii.

the problem was you're not gay.
the problem was there was feeling
but it wasn't for us. i had you but
it wasn't for us.

iv.

i'm not sure if i resent you,
but i remember that bar and every pockmark
on the stool you sat on while i played
the song that parted yo

Sonnet 4 for my grandmother

Her flowers, softly pressed against her palm,
have lost their quiet gift of sunlit breath
in lieu of gentle summer's song, this psalm
hushed now by looming mute of living death.
The owl's lonely mating cry rings out
against the fjord today, and still I find
her shorn cloth adorning my clouded route
home. Roughly textured skin of night confined
my skin; however, the small trestles built
from earth to hidden light behind the moon
guide me to her in sleep. Her petals l

Davaothe equatorial sun
soft-etched on my skin,
there, del sur

islands away

the tan lines of shallow-bathing
in your eyes

there is so much time between

you
and
I

you spoil me, featherbreath
do i dare commit my memory
into dreams?

i laugh upon waking,
i did not realize--
i run when i go to you

earth circuitAnd when the sun sinks, the earth's skin crawls:

I.
I wonder if this awkward creature would notice me the way I notice him.
He's so tragic at his throne
I stare after him longingly.
And yet,
He never realizes that I'm the one
Who forever basks in his brilliant beams.
If only he knew how much brighter he could burn
[with me]
He'd light up the universe.

II.
I heard him speak of thirst, once.
The quenching lust of the stars had run dry.
So that night, I brought along a jar of acid.
(And how it gleamed in his glow).
I handed it to him, wrapped in taffeta ribbons,
screaming
I wish curdling joy
On my gurgling boy

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More from *callerofcrows

Whistle at my Window if You Find Your Way BackFrom your feathered hair to
the way you pursed your lips
as if they were a beak,
you were tawny like the owl.
It was midday but
it could've been the night for
how large your eyes looked
under the two o'clock sun.

We flew through the fields
to the crooked old barn,
and we sat in the hay like
we belonged there.
Our spring-time nest I called it,
and you laughed with the swallowtails
gracing the lilacs.

Somehow, you disappeared when
adulthood dawned,
and when you left it was like
you took off without any hope of landing.
I make believe I hear you calling, but
it's just the wind dancing
like we would in the hollow.

AwakenedPaint me silver,
to contrast the dawn,
and open my eyes to the twilight.

In this moment, I am the hills.
I am the mountain with his
white-brimmed hat cocked just so.
I am the breathy mist on the lake.

With the sun framing
my westward-pointing shadow,
the morning is my vestment,
and new warmth makes my crown.

I shiver with the bristling pines,
shaking off last night's frost,
creaking as we stretch into the wind.

How Cold the WindHow cold the wind
that rattles my bones,
as they creak across the wastes.
I have been wandering
these thousand miles,
and the grave is my only home

The frostbitten rattle
that's caught in my throat
is the only life in my lungs
Would that I could,
I'd thaw by the fire,
but the grave is my only home.

I stagger alone through
the frozen hills,
keeping time to my
clacking maw.
I never keep much company,
as the grave is my only home.

Tired am I, but I get no rest
as I haven't slept in years.
But I never intend
to warm my bed
in the grave, my only home.

HeavyWhen you let me go
by the side of the road,
please remember the string
that you tied to my soul.
I'm the balloon you inflated
just to let go;
the night is too cold
and I'm sinking so slowly down.

Why'd you have to cut this
delicate cord,
the thin wire trailing
from my heartbeat to yours?
Remember the science of
the desolate sky,
because the night is too cold
and I'm sinking so slowly down.

SeparateYou are on the opposite side
of this window.
Press your palm against the pane,
against mine.
The heat of our fingers will
fog the glass,
and in this mist we create,
we will finally meet.

White NoiseThere's a dreadful pounding in my ears
and it's meant to drown you out
like last night's thunder.

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(Contains: sexual themes)

Birds and Beesby *callerofcrows

Literature / Poetry / Humor / Free Verse

Mature Content

Good. Lord. The sexual themes tag has never been more relevant.

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Given 2013-03-06

Birds and Bees by *callerofcrows ( Featured by ^Beccalicious )

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~HuffingtontheOnly Apr 2, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

I'm sorry, but this is just damn funny. It sucks when it occurs, but... XD

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Mood: Lmao

=pisatielnitsa Apr 2, 2013 Writer

Oh lordy this brings back freshman-year-of-college memories. AMEN, SISTER. Worst thing was not knowing who it was on our floor so you couldn't commiserate without fearing retribution.

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~lastbattlelhu Mar 7, 2013 Hobbyist Photographer

HAAAAAAA! CLASSIC!

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*callerofcrows Mar 13, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks!

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Mood: Love

~Mista-Heesh Mar 7, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

XD Amazing!! Your style is perfection!! >w< Congratulations on the DD, always nice to see humorous pieces featured! ^u^

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*callerofcrows Mar 13, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much! I really appreciate it.

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Mood: Lmao

~Zcemex Mar 6, 2013 New member Student

Hilarious!

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*callerofcrows Mar 13, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks!

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Mood: Love

~Zcemex Mar 13, 2013 New member Student

I shouldn't really be reading that... oh well!

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*i-Moosker Mar 6, 2013 Student Digital Artist

Hahah! I called up my one good guy friend, sent him the link, and made him read it, just to hear his smooth voice read the poem for me. It was so good! Nice!

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