Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Crowd of Crows

Why say murder when crowd contains the bird?
Honeys do, yes, and honeydews don't
Rusty hearts need rest apart
This here cat is purring across the scars flapped on my chest
Even after years padded by,  a cat's weight is an iron clamp
A reminder you are gripped, some choices gypped, and a greasy
love will scour the pot.
Crows settle in the live oak.
  They aren't looking for us, we are no bunch.



(Thanks, Shakespeare)

No comments:

Post a Comment