Coyote Mercury

words, birds and whatever else by James Brush

Dead Letter Office

sunlight moves like a broom
through wild worldspinning grass

the grackles in the trees are machines
tuning up & ready for the day’s

music no one would recognize
a heartbeat on the edge of familiar

songs written in dead languages
& trees that grow twisted on the plains

could be the old hair metal guitar
that escaped the pawnshop wall


  1. Wonderful! Visual imagery very deep and compelling.

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