The Dread of Dead Birds

The dread of dead birds In the ambient of a stake-out Is the song of blood Exists A slightly higher pitched thought Like the distances Lave themselves with silence Sail away eyes down Attila's ill-whirlpools Dig out the birds Which are self-sufficient Convinced That the most beautiful voices Reach From dead lines in the ground We need them At the beginning and the end of love We always summon them then