I bathe in feathers
of the Holy Crow Masked Marauder.
Crucified upon the crossroads of the earth,
he rose again,
blue fading back into black.
The Holy Crow sings
a raspy song
of crick-craw swing:
"Caw! Caw! I am the living bread
which came down from the People-In-The-Sky.
The bread is my flesh: Eat of my flesh, drink of my blood,
and I shall grant you eternal life."
And blind bigots yell back:
"Holy Crow, you dirty nigger-jew!"
Not a "Thank you",
nor a standing ovation
for being a protector,
a key of salvation
disguised as a scavenger.
The Holy Crow Avenger,
the Masked Marauder,
wraps his wings around the world,
takes flight within my mind,
unfolding my third eye with feathers
glistening in cactus buttons.
Constantly, I am entwined with you,
whether closer, or in the distance.
The touch of your skin,
the mischievous glimmer in your eyes,
the taste of your pores,
the scent captured in the nape of your neck
mixing with sage sprigs in my hair.
And in the euphoria,
the Holy Crow becomes silent for a moment,
blue fading into black,
absorbing light in dark feathers,
passing on the torch to us,
as he bursts back into a song
of raspy, crick-craw swing.