by LE Francis, October 10th 2022
Like a rock through a window, this is dead
crow dinner; silk over the face & a mouth full
of sugar, feel the wriggle against your gums
as blue dawn crowns the Cascades. Alive
with the wind in your wings, uneaten
& unturned. Breezing through the ol’
Pornobalken, feathers tickle the nose. Plant
the seed & it will bloom, eventually — ain’t
workin’ on no time but god’s, the high king
of the clouds will prick the sky & watch it bleed
feathers black as your belly, slip below
the mirror-river with a wristwatch
even Poseiden knows is so last season.
Lulu’s light finger pressed just below
the rib cage to encourage the lungs to cough
up the bones of the second summer’s death.
This is sun scrying, this is the only way
of knowing a world gone oh mierda; hear
crows choke through the thick air, until a fair
enough breaks through. Bullets like bird bodies
pressed against a streaked window. Her broken
neck leans ever so slightly to the left.