fallen angel heads

from angel head # 2

ronald baatz

on the fourth day
i named the fly
howard

an icy evening
a bowl of noodles and thoughts
of a naked woman

in the driveway
shoveling snow that's the same
eerie white as the moon

lonely pussy willows~
the only place snow
seems to be sticking

we act like children
laughing when i fart in bed
between my bony legs

in the window
enough leafless branches
to weave me a coffin

the rake~
of no use against
the constant rain

a rare thunderstorm in march
knocks the bread machine
out of commission

screeching like baby birds
in a crowded nest~
dumplings frying

out in the field
waiting to piss
it starts raining first

after the game
the chess pieces stand around
shocked at what happened

old crow
so close to dying~
why walk across that frozen pond?