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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.