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Clade Song 10 left

Clade Song 10

It’s only taboo if you eat your own.   A cabinet of hawks
To clear the coalmine of canaries.   Costs overrun,

But a drought means it never will flood again. 
Exposure’s just what is sought.  Wherever

You got to, there you were, taking pictures
To prove it.   Another accipiter visits the feeder.

This year’s fledgling unfurls in the gravel.   Guts
divulge their glory.  The prognosis is clear in hindsight.
Vanishing is an act to watch others rise to,
While we tend to the faceplants that root us here. 

Sit in your corner. Sip a shotglass of rubbing alcohol.
Peel your eyes from some promised future eclipse.

In the kitchen, chefs draw the syringes. 
In vein or in vitro, there’s no need to swallow

What is served.  Just try to inject a little levity
into the carcass.  Lick the needle to show that you got it.



Clade Song 10 right

James Maughn is the author of four books of poetry, The Arakaki Permutations and Playing the Form, with Black Radish Books, Kata with BlazeVox, and These Peripheries, with Otoliths.  He lives and teaches in Santa Cruz, CA.  In his free time, he studies the martial arts, and enjoys taking crystal-clear photos of slightly out-of-focus animals.