The ground crawls and other stories

I. The ground crawls:
A million precise movements scattered on the dry-grass floor,
only when stationary does the ground seem alive.
When the mind stills, and the breath draws of its own silent accord,
do the pinpricks of grass-blade-dances and sunlight weevils scurry.

II. The ugly crow:
Black, hungry, unceasing, guttural, brazen, impolite,
taken for granted, under our noses, the everyschlub crow grows lives and dies.
Seething, frothing the world alive streams through our daily consciousness unperturbing.

III. Sister Mary Heathen:
If I have no God, I feel alone.
Christopher, Christ-bearer I become?
Child-bearer?
Sitting on a bus alone crying?

IV. Bitterness in Summer/Gothic mud-wrestling:
The hands that hold themselves, dry crumbling,
acidic visions washing into acceptance,
into magnanimity, into circular patterns that ebb and rise,
unknown sought in Personals; person sought in unknown location.
A silent pill of sorrow every now and again.

V. Mountainscope:
flight. hopping on the bus into everywhere.

VI. The end scares me:
little time to breathe let alone run. Huffing and puffing the day through.