Put downs and the snow drizzled hills
frazzle even the most seasoned raven.
The carcasses are too cold, bone dry,
undead. There's a zombie sun, hanging
around, waiting too long to eat the
other side of the earth's brains. Stars
can't look, the humanity blinds them.
Evil and its discontents, malcontents,
tables of contents -- all of its hench
benchwarmers are starting today,
squishing the moon and its oceans
to make a wave of a point of a sand
bar, where all there is to drink is
the beak of an old sandpiper. This
raven of all seasons will go hungry
today and tomorrow. Follow the
coyote and the magpies, good raven.
You will be the angel of breath
for cells that have spilled their
will to live by early next weak.
Roman Ryan 