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Sanctuary MAG
That bloody raven
Sits perched upon my right shoulder
With immaculate black feathers
And incessant cackling
Corrupting all humanity
My eardrums; a makeshift birdbath
Neck veins; fat red worms at a glossy
Drill’s disposal
Two irretrievable little sparrows
Peck away at my leather toes
And I am oblivious
To their sweet melodies
Ironically, the mockingbird
That feeds on grain from the palm
Of my hand sings not, but
Instead looks onward toward
That malcontent that is the mockingbird
© Anonymous
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