beetles will eat the summer remains (fahnestock, 6/14)
woodpeckers hammer the afternoon hours

bullfrogs echo the meadow’s delight

tannins lay hint to cherry and sky
robins eat their fill of worms

herons cast judgment: all are free

beetles will eat the summer remains
fireflies outnumber stars

trace little hearts, the cherokee kiss

westward flurries waltz w/pine
the oaks forgive all trespasses

the clouds distill. O, wisdom’s rain.

the soil our labor, our mercy, our faith

beetles will eat the summer remains
Nixon/Jurkovic 6/14
Distant Relative
Julian of Norwich

is a distant relative

of mine. An anchoress, optimist, and,

though not officially mumbo-jumbled

into the realm of struggle, a saint.

She’d never know me,

ten times removed and counting.

Ready to count among my own

the slatterns who seemingly get away

while the rest of us get cut down. Like low lying fruit

rots into the root.


Seducing Vivaldi
A rumpled scholar

and small talk mendicant

walk into a bar.
Their discourse diverted

by the redhead’s inquiry

of a sister sleek vision.

Both in black, highly evolved 

and sworn to secrecy.
Sentient favors fire-crotch.

Her counter-intelligence

innate to his nature.
Professor savors the

blonde oval mouth and her

ease w/medication.
The barmaid shakes toxins.
If you’re waiting 

for a punchline 

forget it!
The time for joke’s is over.


The Blonde w/Blue Shoes

 (A Jack Maverick Murder Mystery)
In the mountains above other mountains

I’m playing footsie w/The Green Widow

at a table in a lobby full of women

where baseball and murder

never end well.
Back in the day before

every motherfucker wasn’t suspect,

these vodka wind-shears wouldn’t

cloud my judgement. Wouldn’t walk me to the brink

of tipping my hand.
But here I am w/some backwater hottie

w/bullets in hair and secrets in her jewelry

no loop can find. The line of questioning

runs generations. But that’s how it is

in these small mountain towns 

where the moon is never really full. 


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