Drunken Rooks – for dVerse

This old bitch earth
is still holding out on us –
and yet you sky dance
sozzled. Three sheets,
two wings, one black beak,
giving it all to the wind.

I think you’re whiskey
sipping death, taking it neat,
straight up. What else is there?
Carrion on the rocks,
roadkill chaser. I see you
hanging round the edges,
hammered.

I’m not blaming you.
I’m just reminding me
that my sky tumblers
are resourceful. Always there

for the last call.
 

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