Posted: April 23, 2010 in Poetry

This crow refuses to leave her perch;
she will stay until the saffron skies
collapse into crimson clap-traps and
head into onyx odysseys. She will square
off with the squall and squawk headfirst into
tomorrow. The rust will collect around
her calloused claws, on her metal pole,
as a salt-and-pepper testimony to
conduct unbecoming, behavior feathered fowl,
a conscience scolding reverberations
to conduct scavenger hunts for a home.
She has hewn a home in a dizzy daze,
an emporium above the branches of her
next-of-kin. The crow grounds herself
above ominous electric tendrils, reminding
herself not to claim the earth and
the skies all at once.

  1. pieceofpie says:

    beautiful description of thes sometimes pesky little beasts!!! dinner day 22

  2. Dan Rako says:

    Don’t mess with the crows. Nice work!

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