Michael Earl Craig Poems

When trying to catch a horse it helps if you look away.
Eye contact just pisses them off.
But you can't fake looking away, horses
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Kurosawa was a moralist.
It is said he took and gently bent
Akutagawa's grove.
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This night nurse is different.
She walks into my room and does not turn the light on.
She thinks I am sleeping.
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A kind of Danish cow
long thought to be extinct
lumbers slowly from a fog-soaked forest.
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I was visited by an idea for a poem I could never write

cigarette smoke wafted in in moderation
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I am driving up a mountain pass on my tractor,
a blue plume behind me, when I spot
an abandoned car on the side of the road
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It seems there's always an icicle
or pair of them
hanging, over an infant,
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On the one hand, with this first pair of shorts,
Don's, we have this dark, bleak look at humanity,
the doomed human journey so to speak, and the feeling
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He was a Cossack; he had a crew cut
She was impious; a bacterium dined on her knuckle.
It was Nebraska everywhere.
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Someone is sitting on a tall stool before me.
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