Yorktown: Catching a Scent
Behind the six-foot high privacy fence,
a Redbone Coonhound howls; the hammered
dulcimer across the house trembles
diatonically, echoes back its own drone.
A mournful tone, though each star dangles
a named and bright enticement as
the moon takes off at a trot, unleashed upon
a dark yard. Rolling like a round bone.
A Lack of Electricity Uncovers Local Network Activity
You can't get past insect invective: wasp drone, hornet rasp, blue-
fly buzz, bee suck, cricket laughter, grasshopper tap, mosquito wheeze
between a string section headed by a weed whacker, thumping
percussion of a truck backing up. In stillness, they are static,
interference, moveable sources of sound quivering each stinging
frequency, composing sticky measures, multitudinous humming
through tubes, ancient aliens attracted even to this city address
dressed in busy perfume. Palmetto bugs agitate, a dark collective
just under the roof, swallowing silent primitive night, thrumming
with brown power, poised to take over. Wings beat, heralding a coup.