The Crow - Subtle
A ways outside the tower and turmoil of towns,
In the quiet color cutting
of another spendid sunset...
on the spit of wire spun between
two telephone pole necks,
sits an awful fevered murder of crows.
Itching the dusk with the call that only they lay low,
And so that day they did unwittingly dispose
themselves to the appetite behind all O
Men yet not comprehending their stick in the scheme
of the prey-on-prey ballet of ending day...
the prey-on-prey ballet of ending day
prey-on-prey ballet of ending day
prey-on-prey ballet of ending day
prey-on-prey ballet of ending day
several thousand thick
in a fit,
of everything but empty.
Those crows sicked, their starving wings
on choking out the sun fall's sinking pinks...
Surrounded by the wellwater black
of near night and become,
Those crows dove into the quiet
of the h