Crow's feathers like
The exoskeleton
Of a long-nose weevil,
The color of
Mom's grease-stained
Pots illuminated in moonlight.
They're a mind
That's gone dark
With a tunnel straight through,
Like a billion
Ants all piled
On- throbbing
Can you hear
Them sucking,
Hear them slurping?
Those oily wings
Writhe in air like bodies
Launched from 90-story trade buildings
They close their eyes;
Sleep forever
Bathing in crow's feathers.