can look on the head of a beautiful boy
i think of the blackest crows
pecking, kissing, nibbling
melted black licorice kissed into the
asphalt by worn grey tires;
shiny ribs winged in hunger.
beaks nibble the melt and they
dream it is the most cunning raccoon's mask,
the blackest;
well his glinting red eyes stared down the tires
for the longest, sweetest second
but couldn't stop the tread
from grinding bone and wind
into a forest memory whirlpool.
honey i kiss you and can't help but think
that we will be dead someday.