Tireless crows

            fly across the sun,,

And raven the light

            by the course they run.

If peril were gold,

            I would a rich man be;

I’d buy myself

            A coat of complacency.

Muted colors

            to gently blend

In with the scenery.

Nothing to set me apart

From the rest of the machinery.

 

No dark birds of despair,

            their jeering whims,

To land and nest

            Among my limbs–

Simply the cool efficiency

            of plastic and steel.

A perfect abstract mockery

            to everything I believe

                        and all that I feel.

 

                                                                                                           

Fall 1992