--- C R A L A N   K E L D E R

	headspins for Clark and Crispin


The Point of the Story Is 

that there's a man from eastern parts 
who, when slit open, incised, 
will issue poems 
occasionally a blackbird, 
a red winged blackbird 

black as tea

one of many, 
they swiftly flit, 
coursing through his veins 

some people say it's good 
some don't know what to say, 
some demur, 
suspecting 


cool and hard 

when nobody's looking 
his head probably spins, 
like an owl's 

his head turning, 
with thoughts of peacocks and guinea fowl 

His wife is one helluva broad, 
a gameskeeper who migrates 
his wife eats mice 
she polkas 
she can't cook for shit 
and she's standing just over there 
waiting for spring 
or one peep out of you