is much akin
to ravens picking apart
One starts at the surface,
gently prodding the subject
until suddenly the fervor
of the moment takes hold.
Words tear away from the niche
in one’s brain like lean sinew rips
from the bone.
Bits and pieces are abstracted,
tenderized and processed
in the murderous cycle
of dismantling creation.
The writer is a scavenger
who circles above with pen and paper
jotting down vagrant conversation.
If fortunate, some memories will freeze
and preserve their effigy
for all to share and see.
This poet wishes to feed the birds,
and in turn, become fodder for worms.