Tuesday, 1 July 2025

In the Bin of Ideas I am Marked by the Face III

I heard a cry. Correction. A cry rose up amidst the songs 
of corvids. Because you had jumped from a great height
and because of their memory, as in they know what death
should look like their calls rose up as you lay there in silence
for a time, perhaps unconscious, covered by the weeds and then

they were quiet as your voice rose to harmonise. That is what
I woke to this morning. Oh and then they began to scream 
alongside you a thundering sound in the air, screaming for help
windows rattling the vehicle is coming slow down eye the dots
mark retreat from this sinking world alarm a chorus too. 

                            *

They are moving back a little. 
There is stupidity all around the mouth. 
This week we are spoken over
a ridiculous conversation
no choice but to proceed as one
crying out in the weeds 
for some public information. 

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