Rapacious Caws

For Scrittura’s month of Corvids

Photo by Natalia Y on Unsplash

Here’s the thing — it’s a mood — sporadic caws and mercenary applause for our youth — the pledged generation —
cannot reverse tattoo this residual ink — cannot escape this ever-lusting stink — our corvidae brothers, our corvidae sisters, our sons and daughters on the brink — too blinded by the pixels to stop and think —
such acts of alien axis force de-generation — the frequency of indignation plagues the blackbird migration

nimbus doubt clouds pitch dark shadows — binaural rains piss out upon the meadows —
well one thing’s for damn sure — they’ve been raised on social —
snaps and chats — words unsaid — algorithmically fomented anxieties spread — bread crumbs come out to eulogize their dead —
it’s time to go rogue — but don’t go postal —
go ahead and tell the coast — it’s time to go coastal —
all this fucking trash — this garbage and shit — all of it at your disposal

oh — wherefore art thou fierce warriors of the revered corvidae nation? — pretty blackbirds born of truculent frustration —
with eyes so delinquent — all caught up in arrears —
could not get a handle on — the murder kind of rambled on — to a new turf so…