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Poetry by Brandi Watts 

Brandi lives in Missoula, MT.




© 2003  Brandi Watts





Two grand ravens

are playing tag

in the partly cloudy sky

surrounding my office.

The mighty warlocks,

ancient spinning ghosts,

cast feather spells to earth.

A man just flew by

using his own white wings,

trying to catch a rocket

in his butterfly net.

Hundreds of tiny blue butterflies

are blocking his way.

The rocket will break the sky

in t minus 45.

He is clearly frustrated

by winged insects.

He learned how to fly

watching warplanes crash on tv.

He casts the casualty moths from his net

through my window,

making room for the rocket,

hoping I will paint them and set them free,

but their dusty wings are no match

for my french-fry fingers

and they spin to the ground

life filtered through a blackbird whirlpool

soft-as-a-feather death.




writing between the cracks


wishing for schizophrenia

standing on thumbtacks

to watch the sun set

taking the elevator

two stories too high

and walking back down

for the earthquake

holding it in

so her ribs crack

sleeping on her side

so her back cracks

stomping on plates

so her feet crack

digging up bulbs

made of glass

in the garden

planted to keep

not take

the worms

don't get tired

and dig all night

through the foundation

the house falls down

only she is standing up

with a broken beam

across her shoulders


(see more)




All poems are copyrighted property of Brandi Watts.



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