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Jason Crane Posts

haiku: 11 December 2020

warm December day;
a puff of white ash
as I seal the incense jar

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Jason Crane
11 December 2020
State College PA

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haiku: 2 December 2020

ravens launch from the rocks
as the sun burns off the mist;
snow in the desert

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Jason Crane
2 December 2020
north of Charrizozo, NM

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haiku: 25 November 2020

van floor: scuffed white Crocs
now playing: “Franklin’s Tower”
a great horned owl calls

Jason Crane
25 November 2020
Tucson AZ

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POEM: The Ballade of Billy Montana

The Ballade of Billy Montana

an infinite number of monkeys are making a ham sandwich

later the sandwich is indicted by a grand jury

somewhere Sol Wachtler is laughing

meanwhile the jukebox is playing “The Gambler”

as Billy Montana speeds by the bar on his lightcycle

we all stopped dancing hours ago

in fact, nobody can quite remember where this place is or

how we got here & there doesn’t seem to be a door

the barman keeps serving us, though, so we stay

you’ve got to know when to hold em

and so forth


Jason Crane
20 November 2020
Tucson AZ

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POEM: wildly toward the sun

wildly toward the sun

let’s stop all this
        clearly it’s not working

no one can say
                we didn’t try

                        but it collapsed under its own wait (sic)

instead let’s make ready the soil

        plant seeds & care for them                tenderly

                until something (new) & (better)

springs wildly toward the sun


Jason Crane
16 November 2020
Tucson, AZ


POEM: Oasis


It’s such a cliché even Looney Tunes covered it:
the desperate man in the desert, crawling toward water.
In the cartoon he usually dives into the pond
to find only sand where he sought salvation.
Me, I’ll be driving a minivan to the water’s edge,
and I’m fairly certain it’s actually there. At least
as certain as we can be of anything in these times.
At some point you have to ask yourself why you move.
What possible promise could await over the horizon?
Does forty degrees of longitude matter that much?
I’ll be the judge of that, says the little voice in my head.
I don’t trust that voice any further than I could throw it,
which is no distance at all if past is any kind of prologue.
“Go east, middle-aged man” doesn’t have the same ring to it
as the other, more famous phrase, but what the hell.
YOLO and whatnot. The tank is full, the nose is pointed
toward the rising sun. I have nothing to lose but my chains.
And probably some engine parts I can’t identify.
Save me a spot on the dunes.

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Jason Crane
25 October 2020
Tucson, AZ

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