I Stare at the Catfish that Rises to the Surface

bike on fire

I Stare at the Catfish that Rises to the Surface


Waves of crickets

blow over my ears,

a cicada tide comes near.


September summer season,

school bus parades,

Friday night drums,

nests and floods

on fire.


Fly eggs squirm, maggots

in a possum, dead

at Clifton and Woodland, hum

another calendar retreat.


The crow is one with memory,

a bicycle, two tubes of air,

some vacant house,

three busted windows

haunt windy streets for repair.

About orangeacorn

We are, I believe, and everything is, in perpetual unfolding/enfolding/evolving. By surface appearances, we're in turmoil and fearfullness, but in fact our existence is on the edge of a new way, beyond the US versus THEM we have grown with. I encourage you to join me over coffee or tea in face-to-face encounters. I call this exercise, "CAFFEINE COMMUNION: Encounters with Paradigm Pioneers." I'm a Columbus, Ohio husband, father and citizen. I practice string band sounds from the ridges of Pocahontas County, West Virginia, the vortex of the ancient drone.
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