the eyes of angels
back a poem into a corner
and it will go for your throat
the poet sways wide-eyed
the cobra strikes with the venom
of ink veined upon blank-minded sheets
with the flick of a forked tongue
a reader loves the hate
hates the love
ambivalence is unsure of its tenure
the understanding of the raptor’s talons
in the flight to the eyrie of legend
the clichés are scattered as the bones of conjecture
which were the choice words which the owl’s pellet
soaring the poet far above the crowd
to the crowd the lark has escaped its sky
never the twain shall meet
however invisible the spliced rope
of poet and reader
the hemp harvest weaves the vellum
vain is the poet with ink in his veins
the cock crows into the dawn
the poet lays another egg
sunny side up
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