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SNR's Writers


of the sun, coming
through spaces between
double-stacked containers
traveling by train,
are, predominantly,
a white bird’s wings
-moving me …
the cold fish;
really can be a drag.
this heavy rhythm
rolls with a weight of waves; they
regularly crash
against cliff rock-
& land on my back.

ice is blue inside …
it crashes
into the sound …
ice swims … it floats

to land,
and away …
ice, as it breaks
apart, looks like
a bear’s paw …
white ice
tires …
turns to water.

cold spring
dawn, come
upon the rail;
as morning trains
continue to pull
in & out,
a freight
covers the station;
then darkness descends.
and mist-
sweat drips …
we’re clear.

& complement …
the sea-foam of someone’s home
has carried over boundaries:
adobe mud,
clay, gray, sage …
the days
catch an eye
-flat, and half-dry.
nets have holes,
so many fish
streak away …
silver tear
in this ocean …

lost poem

i deny the
anti-semitic claim,
once the brotherhood elects
to identify-isolate, in
david icke’s books-
quotes taken from judaic writers
-which he only uses
affirming-and bringing to light-his own
motive-conception, contemplation,
rationale, philosophy, outlook. no one’s
forced these people
into being
here; what’s important is
they have a choice; called
freedom. end
quote. right

great mundane
to accessorize exercise,
carry that spotted dingo stole
-mounting a rack of coats;
and attached, at the neck,
on a long enough chain …
the breed is going out
of style, even
as we speak
-not quite perfect.
taut chihuahua skins
surviving beyond the trend;
they’ve been in, before
your big cars were yanked
like pretension. behave.
how can you walk around town
with that dog, fifteen seasons?

you let out a cry if i have done the solid job of penning you,
only to bar that sound with a part of the body; gnaw; or chew
the headrest. your mouth, already roughly a clean cage, can
trap the tongue-but, in truth, a nose is what you’ll moo through.
i’ll set free the strength of an ancient spirit-cell-by-cell-
until fire & muscle have leapt past blackness, as they used to …
the spit is no different from the spear;
you turn, when i rip into your generous flesh. food
within this community, there is satisfaction-& a full belly.
a poet is finished. he belches-which isn’t considered rude.

happy to
see some
come to the dog
but, i will not
your scrupulous
you move
a lot looser;
i’m tighter
this spring,
in awe.

perspective: overpass
rome of tomorrow;
parthenon off-ramp;
swap-meet coliseum;
car lot catacombs
beneath the freeway.

apollo, gee
i wish all men were stupid
enough to die for common sense
-painfully, stiffly;
that an autopsy would
reveal a purple heart … and yet,
smiles will still have to be cads.
wish the cause was determined
“natural,” as animal instinct-
fight or flight; eating …
organic, like a good earth …
wish i didn’t have this guilt
-this recognition i was wrong
for wishing. for buying,
but not bearing its price.

moving through
the neighborhood
suburban forest-
one block up 3rd ave.,
east, toward 24th street
-i frighten
an owl, white
as my own ghost.
it departs
a giant cedar.

a cabbage habit
that changeling
in your head, baby …
its swaddling,

lowering floors
down upon marble,
an arrow reflects
ascendancy …
& once through the opening,
there are numbers
that glow
-when you know how
to put your finger on them
 … stories come to you.

in a word …
bold letter of the law
 … that i can abide by
and bows …
is ribbon to
-new cement.

father leo
stroke you,
remarkable cat.
you’re precious;
but i have let you sleep, in
a lined
bed of the desk i’m at.
you are where ever there is
light … pet-
this little copper curl
-i will lick
your fur bald.
and swallow …
so the insides can once again dance
-until someone else rubs a jar
of jelly around our hairy mouths.
either i’ll
cough it all up,
or you’ll bury me, now,
under sand …

bathing beauty
there in thin air;
she’s tossing off white sheets,
as her old flame parts company
 … circle
set …
to find his place
-between the sixth
& seventh houses-
wind up, northeast,
spring cleaning this evening.
from a tub of blue,
half submerged
and warm … waning …
the moon

retire, atop
the bush …
today’s modern
condominium home-
your future awaits-now!
be a part of that
luxurious, restful, california lifestyle …
long sunny days, & warm nights,
put you, squarely, there
-at the heart of it. and how …
bachelorette pads,
with pearly dew-drop
and metallic silver built-in
reflect ‘her’ twilight time
in (or, out of) the sun …
a single vehicle
garage opens upon
the green, perfectly
manicured lawn;
all of this living …
in one bundle-
it’s ideal …
for decorating, remodeling
 … a host of non-stop improvements!

Copyright 2008, Devin Wayne Davis. © This work is protected under the U.S. copyright laws. It may not be reproduced, reprinted, reused, or altered without the expressed written permission of the author.

The work of Devin Wayne Davis has appeared in the following: The Sacramento Anthology: 100 poems; Sanskrit; Dwan; Poetry Depth Quarterly; Dandelion; Coe Review; Rattlesnake; Taproot; Chiron Review; Poet’s Gaggadah; as well as in 41 chapbooks.