clack go the yellow stones of Yeats’ cairn
counting off your clickety
clangor bones sucking out the sky clap
cast a cold eye on a cold front
creep over crops
chopped fingers signal something classic

coins are made for tossing up feeling good comrade
canceled at the crook of the heel
chimes of winter wrens flicker in & out of control
clinking cheekbones
ching-ching in & out of a shadow
come apart at the seams under the coupe

captain shook out his Berber knife with a canyon
chortle before she could shun the camera
chasing her across the courtroom
coldly tossing fistfuls of sea-salt into her fiery-cracks
crested with the colored
clockwise they ran around the crime scene

chomp on my flinching heart still beat-beating among the woodchips
crisp mornings I gather chickpeas
cower down the footpath to the cold clay pits
catch mice in my cleavage
call it a day and dress the carcasses
carpenter the story of labor swings your cello

come to me by night dressed in Austro-Hungarian period costume
cutting over flowerbeds and thru the root cellar
coo in the crawlspace for me my dark-locked corazon
catch my hair in the ceiling fan
cure me in stale curry
choke me while sipping on a little champagne

collect yourself and swallow air thru your crying towel czarina
cash in your bumblebee curls
caret gilding empty as a headcount
castigating the plumb brandy for the clank in the carburetor
crooked monument have some faith in a crowd
clap for another hacksaw utopia crushing its way thru the cucumbers

Champ is just learning to yelp Clancy
cursed like a firecracker
cuz the family dogs have sharp noses in the cellophane
careful by the cemetery wall
cross yourself wearing the leather jacket of a communist
’cause history isn’t going to write itself cowboy