That blackness, ripe
in sorry circles - tumbling
down through the inky mists
of sea water that make up my
An empty pit, an enormous void
of heart. That kick, that candle -
that swift crease of the cheeks,
it has been missing for some time now.
Raven, why do you sit upon my shoulder,
ungainly, feathers flayed, idly pecking out
Out of sight and out of time,
there is no excuse for my naivity.
There is no excuse at all.
I'll lick these wounds, and mend
my wings, and one day maybe I'll fly again.