Bonnie and Clyde


    In a parched, tasteless plain


    Of doves and sparrows


    Who hunt each other every day


    Sharpening their beaks


    And their talons


    Fertilizing the autumnal soil


    Perpetuating a primal toil


    Until the ground is too moist and maroon


    Underneath a blinding white moon


    I


    A crow


    Persecuted


    Pestered


    Predestined


    To be a vulture


    You


    A mockingbird


    Lost


    In a bloody field of barley


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    They scoff at us in their lofts of


    Tight knit twine


    Thyme


    And Bramble bush


    At the grease and sweat that mattes my wings


    And the itchy timbre in the songs you sing


    Sweet-tempered songbird


    I know you’re not a vixen


    For your voice inspires


    Too much conviction


    For me


    To be


    The steady spirit of a brittle body


    That mends the shattered soul


    Of a true beauty


    Why?


    Because although you are a mockingbird


    You do not bother with mimicry


    Your voice can only be


    To me


    A melody


    A sweet


    Succinct


    Symphony


    Our hearts will form


    A harmony


    Like that line in a poem


    That only rhymes


    At just the right time


    My midnight wings cloak you


    In our wallflower nest


    Of sage and thornberry


    As the halation of snow falls above


    So does the rising threat of a cold death below


    As we fly to higher vines


    The dire stakes of a blizzard strikes


    Suddenly


    Nests


    Crops


    And Birds


    Are broken


    Their wings frozen


    Unable to fly


    From the false life


    They have chosen