tear the top from the collar
watch her maw move angry back to
labors of love, heard a bird call, didn't
answer seven days past feathers desire, now
tearing callous marks from my skin, like
legions long placed and terrible sunk in, who squawked
to say...? Buck and brimmed with rolling hay;
missed mornings ago, rolled over saw her cold face.
lines in future tense, looking forward to my own
place, floght perched and watched secretly
cracked into frown from treachery; marked white
breasts not here, I haven't been able to tell her I
left, adorned lengths of a talon wondering the look
as if burnt onto the nape of my neck.
can cost a pretty touch waiting for the
carrion's peck, gathering tongues if only for the
speck of a second for fleeting heat of love,
what the lord doth say by the gabbering goose,
or the emptied vessel, nested made this way curiously.
I remember in the woods, on the bank by the river near
the logs felt and hollow, plucking the leaves and throwing them hardly away, watching them
like sinking vireos, red-eyed and such.