When the serpents swim, and the air currents breathe,
A blackbird will fall from the sky.
Her wings will be dank and *****,
matted,
with a mixture of blood and red wine.
Her beak will be broken.
Her eyes clawed.
Her tongue lashing
Her talons bruised.
Her bones crushed.
Yet,
She will stare with the determination of a thousand willows,
She will bore into the minds of a sordid plenty,
She will imprint her soiled likeness into the face of the earth.
And she will say,
“I
have
lived.”