Today I am a crow,
onyx quills and hollow bones,
beady eyes glistening in feral sockets,
flashing from fetid heap to heap –
a garbage grabber,
reveling in rubbish,
wrestling with the necrotic.
Perhaps this is the reason for the schism within –
an instinctual confusion,
trapped between species,
I’m limited by my log-like limbs,
stuck in the wrong bag of skin,
quick wits bound and bogged
in brains too big and broken by
Trying to comprehend all this.
I flutter in clumsy confusion, fighting
the desire to land on things long dead,
to digest the rotten as though
it might power a flight
into the heart of a shining flock
above the dark thoughts
Imprisoned in my monkey mind.