flight

frog mating season

frog calls pepper the night;
sounds like sweaty farts,
lava bubbles bursting lazily—
constant sporadicity.



insomnia animated
bed pirouette against the
pockmarked sonic mate-scape—
auditory nightlight.

pigeon foot

In Edinburgh, I often see,
a Pigeon with a twisted foot.
Is it birth defect or injury?
Or maybe hereditary,
each sighting a different squab
of a long-lived clan
of Edinburghian club-footed pigeon.

the starling

The hubris that the works of a single English poet might serve as better guide to the appropriate fauna of the new world than nature's invisible hand has been repaid ten million fold. And so also will the hubris that the experts might manage through wielding the righteous sword of federal funds that which their own theory dictates unmanageable. And in the former case, the cost is an incessant theme and variations on the car alarm, lovingly reproduced in nature's throat, and rehearsed out my window from dusk 'til daybreak. But in the latter . . . ?