Blood is thick

Blood is Thick

blood is thick
but it’s not that thick

pudding’s thicker than blood
where does that leave Dr. Oetker: pudding maker:
at the rudder

going upstream, there’s alot of healthy energy
paddling its way to distribution centers
waking the puddles of dissolute stasis

blood is thicker than water
they wanted us to know
but what does pudding relate to?
enjoyment of fattening organisms?

there is no relative that will pick you up
sometimes there’s a pro
no brother or kin
to take out the voodoo pin

streams may be faster than rivers
but the Bloods can’t see the Crips*
for want of a better communication system
woiking the puddles of antiphantasy kangaroos

trying to stop a stream with a stick
is like paddling up stream
with the Pudding Doctor at the rudder
it’s relative to how you think

and then there’s blood pudding
ornery folks can eat it with lots of butter
not like a bratwurst at all
shovel it down if you’ve never had it before

one fellow I know has the odd pint of pig’s blood
gives him a boost of energy
it’s thicker than thin
how dreary and depleted
the ties of kin appear today
how weary the creeping workaholics
climb the next cliff

*Bloods and Crips: two rival street gangs in the United States

Crow’s Feather

She went hunting for Crow
long dark feathers are hard to find –
– They just come to you
Like a Thunderbird
At Crow’snest Pass she fell and broke her knee
It was just like her to look in unlikely places
Where the snow is hard
The ice on their tips bending them down to the earth
Like the larger bird who really wants to meet us
– tell us stories as Answers; give us truth myths
There are no fences (out) in the wilds of Canada
but many neighbouring trees
and straggling animals
– They just come to you
Like a wandering Walking Stick
full of carved patrons
the ice on the tips of their fur
hiding them like camouflage
like a Bloodhound she walked
casting her eyes about for the wing
if memories caught up with their own branches
passing through cold streams
and cliff-ends talking – Old Legends
perched on a Ledge – a Cougar
jutting out like a refined piece of antique jewellry
wondering about these memory-like shapes of
black feathery shapes floating down past
like a brother’s broken promise
poor grasshoppers just begging for attention
The softer beds in the forest where one hears everything
After sleep comes the break of day
And the narrative begins again, of how she found
the feather.

(optional reading: 4th to last line, change beds to bells)