(Today a writing collegue told me I was the best writer of poetic prose that he could think of. He was surpised that I didn’t really have much of a formal poetry background, or many poems to show for it – just a bunch of short stories with poetic prose. I decided I need to write more poetry.)

Every day, I ran
To the lake mouth
To clear the branches
Of vultures brooding black
In the thick of thorns
Hungry for messiah blood
Tiny Spears of Destiny
Having to instead subside
On meager meals of road kill gore
Dangling in the thorny wind
And every day
And every run
One less vulture
And then no more
And the crow laughed
And I knew I had come home