7.01 / January 2012

Two Poems


black feet, black bill, black breath
                    the crow tells me I don’t know
               I don’t listen

                         warn them hungry my branch back up stuck-man fly away
          I don’t know the crow I don’t have time

          step     pluck     babymouth     wind
The crow          listen



Frosted windshields challenge scrapers,
          white horizon blurred by flakes.
They’re all indoors now at Molly’s red house,
          though the heat there’s busted-great!

Lucky the girls are warm; they were given
          ratty fur coats, made elegant, bundling their charms.
Magically flowing locks of auburn, Bethany. Green eyes with
          gold flecks looking up at me, a questioning squint.
               I lap a tongueful of sugary milk from her navel. Delicious.

Jeffrey Kingman is a horror movie junkie who lives in Vallejo, California—a beautiful town with an ugly reputation. His novel, Moto Girl, is a family drama about a 12-year-old girl learning to ride motocross. The book was a Dana Awards semifinalist. He has been published in the North Atlantic Review, the Schuylkill Valley Journal, Grey Sparrow, and decomP magazinE. Currently, Jeff has given up fiction for poetry. He has a Master’s degree in Music Composition and can be seen late at night banging his drums at bars in San Francisco.
7.01 / January 2012