Tutorial, Part Two

When the Dark Bird comes,
Don't feed it.

It will land in the branches of your ribs,
Behind the breastbone;
Like the cuckoo, it pushes out whatever was there,
And by murder, makes its home.

When the Dark Bird comes,
Don't feed it.

It fetches last year's doubts, rag-ends of fear;
Builds its nest out of restless lack.
No yellows, no reds, forget them dear,
Its pleasure is poison, its joy is black.

When the Dark Bird comes,
Don't feed it;
But even if you do,
It will scorn your offered trifles--
What the Dark Bird consumes...is you.
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