My Crow Poet

Free Verse ReVolution

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

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

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

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
him;

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

Offering wraiths where
old ghosts would have stayed
before the
exodus.

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

heartbreak.

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