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 *******,
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.

A piece
of a ouija board
sits in the Los Angeles River
as the inky crows squawk nearby

I pace
along this polluted trickle
of a river
as the crows flutter by

Apace
a runner darts near
without his mask
I shudder

Ashes
ashes
we all
fall down