Not a Raven

This is a few months old. I was feeling very inspired while at my friend's new house, but had no journal with me. I sat on the staircase, smoking, writing with eye liner on my cigarette pack.

A windless autumn, bird-fled day,

I sculpted you in ashes.

So swiftly, silently, single crow

perched upon wooden, warming post --

He yelped pattern cursings,

shallow preachings, knowing his language

was his, only his.

Flew away before I could

memorize his eyes.

Author's Note

September '10

Reviews

[Robin]

a moment captured, pure. in poetic beat with the heart .. love this .

[PianoandPage]

first of all, i love that you wrote this in eyeliner on a cigarette pack.

i really loved "he yelped pattern cursings, shallow preachings, knowing his language was his, only his."

for some reason that reminded me a little of stephen king.

for a shorter poem, this had great feeling and wonderful movement.