Deer Memorial

Two doe in the forest

(down the road)

[out] by the the graveyard
of trees. I watched them

from the Wheel Horse
as the light from the canopy

danced like napalm
on their faces.

I fired-up the tractor.

The deer, (hooves locked)

into the flora-funk, stood
with 4 curious orbs for eyes.

(The faces of the fallen
are hovering in the valley

like cotton wood).

My First Meal

Coming out the hospital,

Out the casket!

One Eye-Ballin'

a crap load of arthropods!

Eggs coming out my

neat glacial epi-structure

frozen susurrations from the caterpillar nest

Coming out the octopus

flora of the tesla-alloy wilderness.

Uno ojo y eat buggy

buggy!

Caterpillars

Pillars of
caterpillars
pillars of
caterpillars
pillars of
caterpillars

Kristen

Alone,
in her room

I bet she
cries often.

Something
in the softness

of those eyes,
the lips that form

a smile more
like a frown--

cheek bones
like mountains

waiting for the flood.

Turtles

It's the soft
shell turtles

that give me the most
trouble.

When I walk
along the banks

of the St. Joe,
they get cryptic.

I just want to capture them
at 1/800th of a second.

Not even with the quickness
of my paint brush

can I translate them
to a raw piece of cedar.

My strokes are long
and muddy like the river.

I can only imagine—

the turtles beneath the surface.

It Could Have Been a Photo

A plump robin
landed on the fence

in my backyard.

It slowly turned
its beak up in the air--

why is the sky blue?

Unsettled

In my life stood—

a Doe,

a Mountain,

and a Horse setting

with the Sun.

I could not have the Doe,
for the Doe belonged to

the King.

The Horse, a brilliant white
steed, provided a chivalric ending,

a war torn trail in a crimson embrace.

I chose the life of Robinson Crusoe
coming down the Mountain

rather goat-like and alone.

Just this massive rock and

                    I,

            the son that never sets.