Murder of Crows

I thought Dewey Decimal was my friend

Numbers and constants

Logic dictated my another man’s

logic

Now books fall off of shelves into my open palms

Now pulsars scream at my soul

and fission bombs reunite the waves

as they penetrate

my heart

Books fall off of the shelves into

my open palms 

where once they turned away from 

the magic in me

Now ash is held in my palms

and 

Books fall off the shelves into my

hands

The severance of the past and the glory of the future

fight in me

Vultures bow to me and declare my name

Now words come unbidden from inside,

instead of the exterior advertisements

that convince me to; read, drink, vote, cry, scream, fight, and love

Now black birds take virgin flight

to the song of my soul

Now sapling trees thrive in my footprints

Now marauders take aim at my soft center

Now

I am the sea

I am the star

I am the murder of crows and their devious plans

Books fall off of shelves into my open palms

I am the song

I am the story

I am the struggle