Tuesday, February 25, 2020


I see you cockeyed
as a wounded rooster,
beating your crested head
upon an empty drum.

Hens to the nuclear sunrise
have abandoned you, your yard
with its hard clawed circles
is vine crawled and disintegrating
into the wider outskirts.

With your pea brain brilliance
you seek meaning in printed seeds,
the papers of officialdom
scattered from a broken office
to unyielding dirt.

Your beak is where you breathe.
The scent glands of forest skunks
and glamorous foxes
have driven you wild with error.

Flapping hard to become a stump
you crowd surf the hands
of inarticulate tongues.

To your cumulative blaze
I discard the one feather
of yours I kept,
watch how easily it fades
into the disarray you cared for
and your gone path paved.

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