Back here           in the briar patch

I have become

all quiet and useful

my hunger is ungone

            but it is lazy

I still dream of meat

and am sorry

I have not written you

for sometime

Jim calls me out

            during the day

His face is streaked with red now

and it is beautiful          in the snow-fog

It is raining

The yard is peppered with others

            day-birds mostly

in the distance             vultures

sog the clouded air

and sleep in slow congress

in the leafless willow

behind the grocery store

it is always Friday Jan 11

and a Kubrick moon is set

            like a vulture

everytime I step outside to smoke