Crow Prints In the Mud
Yeah,
go ahead, stare at my crow's feet,
I don't mind
I'm proud of them
earned every one...
broken my back
broken this
broken that
ninety proof patch
thatched hut for a heart
and broken clock soul
Yeah, crow's feet, look closely,
there etched in unforgiving-unforgivable
tin miscarriages
cornucopias spilling the seeds of lust
sticky-petty jealousies on a path of forever
the broken flesh of those never born
gouging at the skin around the soul.
You, on the other hand
don't have any crow's feet
your palette and brushes are clean.
haven't earned any
haven't buried what you love...
enough
given (it )all to a heart
only to retrieve (it) from the earth
to be put out of its misery.
you haven't gotten those pixie dusted eyes broken,
but you'll catch up... someday,
it's coming
way-way down the tracks...at the empty station,
where nothing breathes but crow prints
in a fragile evening mud-
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