| 51 Gone Years 51 gone years, holes of life that yawn stretching grey matter like scraps of first car first love, first kiss, first poem, electric dawn seen as ravens, jays, and crows sing a bar of fight songs in flight, flexing their graphite throats and bright winged bodies hoping for luck with dull feathered bodied kindred, polite and contrite, a drake flaps a wing, a duck on his mind . . . seeking to fornicate prodding primal places to solicit with old moves songs that shout propogate new born eggs of instinct . . .life is illicit.
51 gone years burn in the dawn's pause
Stephen Morse 1996 |