We are divine
Floating in the sky on the wings of our fellow poetics’ love and delusion
Wings of white feather and black leather all in union but
Not quite conformed but with the same minds
Caws as delicate as air and as heavy as fire
Soaring high upon their desire
Pigeons, crows, hawks and loons swarm in our eyes
But in the swell of them all a phoenix on the rise
With the wings of flame and eyes of possession and claim
Claws of razors and mind of old
In it of itself the very creation of the cold
Twisting air and spreading the flock
With no heed to life or the ticking of the clock
They follow it unthinking into the sun
And together in silence they all burn as one
With the essence of passion they die quite gory
But they all sacrifice themselves
For Poetic Glory
