Thursday, June 29, 2006

Crows are You

All the widows have flown away,
Outstretched arms and legs,
A cackle in the sky,
Wings oiled, feathered down
A sudden shortage of light.

In compassion the white lily swans,
Crane their necks in adoration.
The banks on the river uncover a bit of red plastic,
A rusty brown bicycle,
An old head of an owl,
A murdered son lying face down.

The little ones have all run off,
The old hags have no voice in them
The weathered men have no hands.

Victimise each heart
Vanish the terror
Count down to sin--
The rocket roars in space.

Death is not approachable,
The word crawls from the insides
And makes the body peel.
What is man, but heathen,
Who is he to count the stars?
Try counting memories on toes.

Crows are you, my crying woman,
owls hoot with your screams,
Save face for no one,
but be you brave for me.

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