08 October 2022

 




there is blood  

       on your wings 

in the feathers 

         matting the vanes


it weighs your lift

       belabors your trajectory 


unwittingly you've been

     pierced


through the plate 

             in your breast

and once again 

     In the hollow of the

           crux tween your

    wing and body


the crown too

       you’ve dazzled with

is heavy now

             with might 

                    and woe


lift it from your brow

         in meager surrender


put it in

       the ground

for from thence

                it came


all those clouds 

                   are coming down

the blackbirds 

         circling 

     and tumbling 


screaming 

        they protest loudly 

the injustice 

     meted out

21 March 2022


the thing 
about the memory

of pain

is that

it's always 

an approximation 

not quite like the real thing 


a slow proximal burn


an unfulfilled sensation


an alluvion through your melting brain


humming 

in the marrow

of severed bones

and screaming 

in the sinew

of torn tissue