Ain't a soul of us, without dark spots.*

Not lacking
In don't's
That have been done,

In rues
Of arson -
Like
Matters

That, simply,
Will not go
Away.

--

Today,
I asked
A sweet birdy -

Just once-

If he would
Sing
'Til my
Dumb heavings
Shut up.

To hear how I
So needed
Him to say
Something beaming -

Something
That would melt ice
That had begun
Its branding -  

Ignorant,
It went on,
Pecking rocks
At my toes.

So, I stapled
My bad day
To its back.

Head hot, in
Black heat,
Quick,
Shufflings of feet,
Sent the birdy
On its
Forced agenda.

Then, I saw
That sweet birdy
Get snatched,
By a beast

Thrice rabid,

On its way
To attempt such a feat.

Dry sickles
Burned my throat -
Some ugly and sad -

With broad cries
That never met
Words.

Though,

The sickles rose far,
Burned that ice
Into scars -

So, I guess,
The bird did away
With my blizzard.