treeful of raucous rooks
drumming the drivethrough line
with ragged drone
here a "murder" happens
the loose birds collected
how were they lured
without fanfare to Plano
corner lot in accord
by some fierce call
in the storm-spiralling Spring
"As a breath on glass, -
As witch-fires that burn,
The gods and monsters pass,
Are dust, and return."
― George Sterling (via @Isidro_Li)
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