birds fly

sillup sillup,
squawk
we are ever helpless

once we are a dancer, an artiste
a figurine
a lifeless still, we watched the cat chase rubberbands in the kitchen
watched boards on the opposite wall that were already are
but not like we are
they were pictures, other devils
we are and we were built for transport, for spoils, voracious devoured
corvus corax
sillup sillup
a whisper to a scream
a mouth to open branch perched
we are tied around the throat, later adornments
painterly
then we are waiters
cat sniff sniffed when we are alone
but we are not cat respected
we are even cat-licked once and twice which we must confessed liking

then we are robbery rapine and nighted
wooden screwed and dark hued
we are raven christ
raven final
finding our way around indecision

we are events out of order, blinked and hung and talked to by children, by every bird
passerby asking we are to rise, to fly, to die for raven sins when raven inns are
fuller than the manger, the granger who grew 33 hours of wood to wood in the
quickness that is any eventual black-out, and the hole that went through we are
was we are so we became the ratchet and the turning of it as one.

but loose we are once again

feathered, look they’re covered with a bright elation

now couch sitting and the obsessor is snap crackle at early light
we are giving single caw to this toucher
this box picture watcher
and still we are the ratchet and the waiter of often quiet, of dark foolers
of listen to the bottle of the wall
of drunk boys getting out of shiny
of another something passing as quick as us but without wings
not as proficient, or well-dressed

we are eyes of never hungry deflectors so stop looking at what you can not see in
stop asking what exists in stately
we are have not been seen in our temporary obvious
we are come down upon us until you flow like water
we are whether you
of raucous voice and carrion fed
sacrificed for a new nirvana
nighttime sends us on our way