Static

A humming choir
of crones,
twine burned bees,
in battled whimper
for the swollen
ghost October:
geese leave early
when snow comes early,
confused momentarily
and then, without
question, take
to the gray skies,
the pre-worn sweater,
the turtle neck dove,
the Ukrainian maid
in black and white
apron, bonnet,
lase chemise brazen
of lost manners
and proper table settings,
blades facing out,
start with the last spoon
and work your way in,
the farther reaches
of off-shore hen-houses,
cliffs so close to the road
that we might
pick up the wind
and flock with them,
easy as flurry,
hastily as Winter's Love
breeds out the Fall,
withers what's left of green
in our lint pockets,
to leave us empty
as froze puddles
in road pots,
air sockets in bread
leave room for yeast
to get a breath,
surface hump-backed
and grizzly
in the garden, wondering,
when did they get here?
The birds ship-in reply:
they don't ask why
we would rather
knit in silence
than play charades
and tummy-sticks,
speak fiddle
about the weather
as if it all "means something,"
when we stop
being fascinated,
white-eyed and bated
on tender hooks
in the horse and carriage,
afraid to be old
and lonely as Suellen,
kept up in the dank
trappings of columns,
darkly sung and swept
of leaves from the front portico,
the broad-side left to molt,
madly, over-looking the brook
that minds its own nonsense,
keeps quiet in the white
so as not to disturb
the elders, crucked
neatly in rows,
stitched,
hand-hewn
into a corn-husk wreath
on the front blue door:
gathered dust
from its attic hold,
traded for cold
clapped to lungs like irons,
and babies left
on the welcome mat
go silent
like Jesus save me,
swaddle me
as you once were
cared for, and of--
fearful for, and of this life,
and how it goes on
cyclical, mythic as Umpqua,
snow-covered boat hatches
chase Coos Bay
as lock-jaw manic mercury
slides down sinfully
its metal pole,
strip tease
onslaught of nether regions,
and fainting steps
tipped barefoot,
and light switches
flicked on for no one
to notice the trees
that don't make a sound
when they fall
without anyone around;
but, collapse calmly,
eidered down,
settled seeds
in the bottom cider jug,
stilling idly,
sour mash
on Marvin's Moutain
manly hides the brush,
stenching lust,
waits to crop-dust
the wrong gullets,
and stubborn car parts,
of which well-brought-up
young-ladies have no
parts in pissing on
over-heated radiators,
shimmying down
rickety rusted-on spare tires
from their car-belly
foot-hold up Diamond Ridge:
the coal-fire smokes out
the haystack house,
crawls crouched,
barely dodging the watch-
dog geese honks spot-
lightning us like prison guards
after a riot, where rape
after rape gets laughed
out loud, rolling on the damned
concrete, because,
he's a man
and he should take it
standing up
green bottles
at attention on top
of the kitchen cabinets
like wives,
prize turkeys
in the Scroogian window,
a ton-weighed pumpkin
at the 4-H Fair each Spring:
stepping in cow pies
and horse pies
and magpies haw haw
like they always have
at what's left of me, and us--
the us is left undefined--
and drops, rapid fire
flock shit
on my frozen windshield.