Birth Mother
Cool, wet, black bough
Shrieking in the winter wind
The window waits
Chilled, frosty, like a beer
Peeping through, three eyes anew
Infant plans have to yet hatch
If there’s blood upon the shell
Let it seep through, renew
Hibernating, vitalizing
Not vibrating, not disguising
Sitting still for all to see
The peeping eyes, one, two, three
And there they sit in reverie
Trying to fathom what they see
The banshee screaming like a tree
Delivered them, so lovingly
It came to war through miles of peace
Set upon the black brigades
Enchanted fellas gear on up
Those bright young pups filled on up
A mass grave of one
The scheme’s undone
The meter’s broken
though ink still runs
