i wear a shell casing
of a crucifix
look
cedar waxwings
ricocheting through sumac, yellow eyes
loose in chokeweed
one long fever
feathering south
through the pines
a tight orbit
at the vocal cords
mockingbird’s static
circling its own ruin, all fracture
and recoil
cracked and limbless wings
burst and break
while snow lions stutter
cinched to famished maples
bare in the winter, shivering
rising, falling
wind slept in the graveyard
under a cold black star
running down
spilling over
covering all the roads
with red effluvium
this crooked brass
yours is the name carved
in the chattering branches
at the edge of the dark woods
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