a tribe of swans
flying forward forever in a
perfect V--
squawking against the wind,
with wings laughing
like little old ladies,
rhythmically & white
feathers falling to the
gentle earth...
black vultures the color
of 3 AM in a
pitiful wretched circle
fly over the
valley, worshipping
the dead and the bones
and the ashes.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC
a tribe of swans
flying forward forever in a
perfect V--
squawking against the wind,
with wings laughing
like little old ladies,
rhythmically & white
feathers falling to the
gentle earth...
black vultures the color
of 3 AM in a
pitiful wretched circle
fly over the
valley, worshipping
the dead and the bones
and the ashes.
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