Dispatch #072


by Michael H. Brownstein

Everything is tumbling to an end,
a rock fall detour, water cascades,
a glint of silver wash and obsidian.

Soon darkness will no longer prevail.
We will see what there is to see, hopeful.
a curiosity of stars, a tree limb, a window. 

The door we no longer use to go anywhere
a shade of tornado gray, its lock another hole 
in the wall of stutter and safekeeping.


by Michael H. Brownstein

Coyote entered with her hyaena hallelujah laughter,
then came a kit of foxes, possums, two wolves,
a beaver with large teeth and a slippery otter.
On the path the great cane corso waited with his master 
sniffed the warmth in the air, the fallen laves, 
sat at the river's edge: I'm alive! I'm alive!
Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com


by Michael H. Brownstein

Chimney sweeps curl into the air,
the moon lights up the last of the gray blue sky,
and Ray, the grand black dog, pulls hard
stretching my arm out of focus.

Deep blood colored eyes, he is king of his block,
a huge dinosaur head with canines as big as fingers.
Some days I walk him, others he walks me—
a tug of war affair in need of good shoes.

How is it he got to be so big,
his jaws bags of saliva and extra thick drool,
paws the size of baby shoes—perhaps bigger:
then there’s a squirrel—then there's a cat—

Sent: Jan 9, 2021

Michael H. Brownstein’s latest volumes of poetry, A Slipknot to Somewhere Else (2018) and How Do We Create Love? (2019), were recently released (Cholla Needles Press).

Categories: Poetry, The Second Wave, The Surge

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