[ TWO MAGPIES & A CROOKED CROW ]

[ TWO MAGPIES & A CROOKED CROW ]

Dark                                                                           flicks,
strips of                                                           meat;
tendons                                     strung
black                 concrete.
Bricks of blonde and
bright white teeth.

Two magpies.
A crooked crow.
A tale of joy,
reaped and sown.

This bric-a-brac
and broken clock;
an open                            door
a shattered                                 lock -
the things                                               we are;
the things                                                           we’re not.



Lazy feathers, fly no flags,
bring no food, lay no eggs.
Forgotten treasures have no maps;
they’re worth more than gold,
more than breath.

The End

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