Scarecrow Dances A case of the almost tapping into the deed: I dance in daylight, but never on stairs nor in countable patterns, the wind and birds my only partners. When the left arm twitches counter to the right hand’s … Continue reading
Scarecrow Considers the Afterlife Gathering threads, I join them with a central knot, producing a sunburst flower or constellation of ley lines spreading forth and connecting their tenuous truths – megalith to fjord, solstice to dodmen and feng shui, … Continue reading
Scarecrow Pretends How may I claim another’s earth for myself? My perpetual stance invites occlusion of the senses and a certain disregard for dignity; I flap in the breeze and bits of me scatter across the fields. Sze asks if … Continue reading
Scarecrow Dreams If by night I move without aid, what then? Precious flesh, precious bone, never mine to lose – the difference between nothingness and no thing. A pity that my friends fly at the merest movement, but when … Continue reading
Scarecrow Calls Out the Man These things I cannot name: that finger of night between fear and peace, in which darkness both cloaks and hugs the wide-eyed. A snake, in the open. And that space behind the watcher? Perhaps it … Continue reading
Scarecrow Believes What is a ghost if not misplaced energy, an apprehension or the sum of invisible integers and the properties they possess? I preside over this sea of maize, tracking clouds, noting patterns up high and among the … Continue reading
Scarecrow Listens These silences I hear, are they not music? Interspersed with sunlight and air flowing through fragrant grasses, insects ticking in the leaves or burrowing towards moist darkness, and my friends cawing from their perches, if I arrange their … Continue reading
Scarecrow Takes a Holiday Having neither organs nor neural impulses, I no longer ask why or how I hear and smell, taste and see, feel. This morning I woke to magpie song and onion breeze, in a body not mine, … Continue reading
Scarecrow Questions Though my tongue withers from disuse and drought, I taste from across the sea astringent smoke and the progeny of a hundred bullets buzzing by like misguided insects through the theater of the dying, and I question … Continue reading
Letter to Marshall from the Scarecrow’s Pocket Dear Daniel: How fortunate we are to tap into this medium of ether and zeros and ones and all the combinations employed in our paperless context. I am drawn to the concept … Continue reading
O at the Edges 