Two Poems

Phone Line Crows

I spent the break
in the day
trying to gain the trust of the birds.

They chattered in disdain
when I spread crumbs out on the sill
and yet
pecked the bread to dust
when I had my back turned.

 


Solo

Saxophone music drifts
through the market.
There is a faint electric buzzing
in my head in the form of neurons
& their repeated failures.

Oh, to connect the music with a mouthpiece,
with a history and a set of lungs
and the ghostly, crowded brass
no one else can notice.

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