bamiyan
valley
two buddhas weep—
crumbling rock
air
conditioner
blowing at my back—
treetops stole my breeze
window
blinds closed—
blind man stares
at the moon
the
statue
stands through all seasons—
even bird shit
distant thunder
and a dog's cry—
kerouac interrupted
birds
chirping
in the summer's heat—
the choir still out of tune
graves
side by side—
the poet still writes
of death
in my
stomach
the ulcer speaks—
lonely night
sewing
room
the thread like a rainbow—
heavy black eyes
morning
farm road
caters breakfast to buzzards—
honking at strangers
clouds rolling in—
a fly caught in the storm
of my sneeze
frog
floats
in the dog's bowl—
we both jumped
church
pews empty—
a hollow cocoon
hangs from a cross
june
bugs gather
around backyard lights—
a midnight rave
Copyright © 2006 by Dustin Neal.
