Thursday, December 19, 2013


Crows quilt the clouds until they've stitched a story.

^^^There's my beginning. Pretty, right? Almost Amish.
Crows have no time to embrace or deny,
and what I love about them--
they never lie.
They cannot lie. 

Please stay still while I fire hose some crows inside you,
like filling walls with insulation.
You look good this way--
real women have crows moving around inside them.
You can trust a woman who has crows in her mouth.

^^^There's my next section. A little macabre. Even violent.
It's over the top, I'll have to change it.
I'll use the heel of my hand like a big eraser--
Oops, I smeared it; now it's morphed into art.
It needs more crow. 
back to the start...

Crows quit the clouds once they've ditched your story.
How did you compromise them?
The crows, in their dark majesty,
how did you get to them?
*smacks forehead*
Of course! With your same old nickel-for-a-dime.
With lies.


hedgewitch said...

Extravagant wordplay here, and trick-mirror juxtapositions--can there be too many crows? I don't know, but reading this leaves me profoundly uneasy, and wanting to protect my eyes.

TexWisGirl said...

word weavery once again.

Mama Zen said...

This is so cool. So uniquely you.

Kerry O'Connor said...

I love it when a poet breaks the third wall, and discusses the process while writing the poem. I love the subtle change in your opening line in its second incarnation.

Lynn said...

Love that "smacks forehead" :)

Anonymous said...

damnation, Shay. Crow done been talking again. ~