Crow’s Beak

Harley roaring recklessly,

tattoos mend clipped wings;

subcutaneous scorpid stings>>>

tearing, puncturing, endlessly

 

A torn soul dangles

from a crow’s beak,

perched on the parapet;

satiating Satan’s quota

 

Too afraid to demur,

or confront the crying

kid—locked inside.

He didn’t take 

the time

to turn

the clock back;

to clearer skies

of Spring’s smiling,

soothing shimmer

 

Seeking heavenly rations,

Standing tall on the wall

Eagle of our nation;

Uplifting those who fall

 

Filling the porous holes

with Joy, Love, Laughter;

Clarity, cleansing whole—

Silence … nothing stirs

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