My Crow Poet

And then the raven queried
darling isn’t your last safe haven

a fairy tale you had
hoped to carry with you
all your days.

Aren’t all these blacks you’ve been wearing just
the copious volumes of cigarette smoke codespeak for

Are we not all trying
to atone for our opiates, whether with an opus or a
paper orchid?

Beauty courting something morbid,
playing mother to
a muted orphan until
more important
callings occur to

a scavenger by
nature, cadaver as his prey,
circling the headstone where his newest admirer

Offering wraiths where
old ghosts would have stayed
before the

Had we
realized what their
presence meant
to us earlier

the damn bird might be
worth its quips, and my grip around
your hand wouldn’t know half the


5 thoughts on “My Crow Poet

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