by
Jack Roth
“A crow perched
so nice
on an electrical line.
Mouth open.
It’s calling.
It’s calling.
It’s…”
___
Calling.
___
“Did she fuck him?”
“When can we meet?”
“Why’s she invited? I’ll just have to be nice.”
“No, I’m not mad…”
“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t…”
“She can’t…”
“…if he tries harder…”
“Why the fuck…”
“…couldn’t even eat today…”
___
Passing through
with a heavy coat of conversation
My hands still stained from the
last request.
Days rested in sorrow are a
playground
and
war zone.
The spill becomes so much
my head hurts…
My dark friend eyes me and smiles
I could reach up and snap –
(that fucking neck)
I could breathe once –
(and the world would be a waste pile)
___
“…acts like a jerk in front…”
“I told you that…”
“…lost the fucking ball…”
“Well, they just need better…”
___
Voices of calamity –
they will be the ones that pull
(the fucking trigger)
I just guide.
(in the darkness with light…
…in the shadows that never cast…
…you can only see what I show…
…and feel what I touch…)
The edge of town comes…
I must keep moving.
The darkness of the forest
gives warmth as
I know it’ll be great.
Until the return.
___
“Look at him screaming.”
(It’s calling out.”)
“What for?”
(“Crows mean death.”)
“Not if that line gives it a zap.”
(Crows always mean death.”)
Read the entire THE PAGES series (hosted by The Penny Dreadful) at Read THE PAGES!
1 comment:
Wow. So *that's* what they're saying! They're a little more potty-mouthed than I would have thought. lol
I was wondering if the connection with crows and death would have something to do with them sitting on an electrical line. Well done.
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