Crows
by Mike Wilson
Now is our season of crows, landing in twos and fours, shiny ebony feathers strutting on grief-stricken earth, silhouetted in decaying light. Crows have brain-to-body ratios the same as chimpanzees, neuronal density surpassing primates, but the emotional body of a dinosaur, the why and how presidents perch on grand pianos of truthless might. Crows harvest the young of songbirds – in a season of crows, no nest knows rest – and peck the eyes of reason in the season of reason’s ebb. Their canyon throats caw and caw about a baby found abandoned in a plastic bag.
International Standard Serial Number
ISSN 2297-3656
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