by flight & call of sure omen

slow trudge of hosts clotting a mask.
half moon. crabapple bloom & cupped
hands compete for morning. nothing
completes a creaky bus not stopping.
cricket & quarter note bird & not bird
chorusing the colophon simple due to
escheatment or enchantment or crow
code in nude limbs over a coed treat.

side road trees thinned so swiss-type
flavors flow & follow the ever-berrying
gathered hair. sorrow song. tomorrow
they say all the second act changes to
their mud-flap haiku will make perfect
sense of us: opera hats tipping adieu.

Ken Taylor lives in North Carolina. He is the author of the chapbook, “first the trees, now this” (Three Count Pour 2013). His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Hambone, VOLT, The Offending Adam, 3:AM Magazine, Verse Daily, elimae, MiPOesias, Carolina Quarterly, The Chattahoochee Review, Southword, ARDOR, can can, Gigantic Sequins, Finery, Blackbird, Clade Song, and others.


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