Luna

I'm not sure if anyone has ever posted a photo of some sunflowers against the night sky on the

internet. So I thought I would, just in case.

I think that bright thing is the moon, even though it looks more like a streetlight.

Snakes on an inclined plane

this doesn't have anything to do with anything

i [never tried and] failed to photograph
the ring-necked snakes
that crossed our path

the first was like a meteor
slid already into duff
revealed in act of disappear

but I should have just grabbed it

the second like an ied
tread past; unseen by me
erupting after, gone again

and the third and fourth and fifth
which are like God

BROS COMING DOWN THE HILL
WITH BABES
SAY, "DUDE LOOK OUT:
THERE'S SNAKES AHEAD"

"Rattlesnakes?" I ask, with hope,

"Um. Yeah," Already gone downhill

"Awesome," I say.

but

"Thanks," I mean?

I mean awesome

But the shadows swell already on the trail
there won't be anymore
snakes today.

Autosuggestive

Collected Field Recordings 2003 - 2004 by neilkelleyca

I know how this looks.

Addendum: I swam in that pool. The locals eyed me with some suspicion. That's the "show-me" thing, I guess.

Heron hunts his shadow

>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
budburst on the oaks and
maps the (?)
brains of a billion dead jays
(treescape is the corvid canon)

something I was going to tell you was
dream about a netflix queue I don't
have
stupid
this dream lost and found and lost and found again
so seemed significant
reiteration defines some emptiness

dude

in the same yard
dread assembly
lost photography
melted eras and lapsed monthes

the way things va.

Ekphrasis for the, very much alive, raccoon beneath my dog last night in the southwest corner of the yard

[much snarling, spitting, biting, scratching]


the mate bails over the fence. "Clyde! No! Leave it! Drop it!"
[more snarling, spitting, biting, scratching]

I am in my stocking feet.

Finally, release is achieved the raccoon is rapidly up the tree and gone.

I tow Clyde by the scruff inside.

Later the dabbing of minor facial wounds.

I scraped my knee on the tree.

A trip to the dump.

These are some days after and once autumn-crisped thoughts have gone all fuzzy, one bleeding into the other solved by beer and stress.

Let me start over.

This I remember: sparrows skulk in the bushes like rapists. Speed-walkers. I take a handful of feral fennel seed and crush them in my fingers, the aroma marries-well with the wet-tobacco-leather-newspaper smell of the landfill.

A pheasant kicks up close across the slough. He's what I have been trying to imagine into clapper rails these crok crokings in the tules. I imagine reflexively throwing an imaginary twelve-gauge up to trace the cock's rocket glight across the way, &&&.

We're all strangers on the land here, me, the pheasant and the fennel. Exotic garbage piled up on the bay shore. We've had our uses.

Compulsively I compile a list of birds: white pelican, avocets wanding their beaks as they do, egrets, whatever, teal, mallards, some feral polluted mongrel duck with them, shovelers in loads, clouds of peeps blow about ominously, audibly I mean, earlier we watch a snowy egret hunting in the effluent kicking up poor scared fish like a freaking dinosaur, I already told you about the sparrows, ring-billed gulls gyre like witches, hawks, whatever, some terns, grebes, geese, I don't know,

Maybe a bird without sinister regard,

There was more to say. Another rail running quick across the mud that I knew anyways was just a mudhen when I saw it.

I want to say, "Isn't all of it?"

What does it mean;

Elegy for the roadkilled raccoon

whisper under your breath:

Procyon lotor

repeat as necessary

(six times yesterday)

http://www.wildlifecrossing.net/california/