Untitled

By Robert Attridge

silence, erupts ...... my love.

Missing a beat -- - swaying,back and forth
to the sweet sound of black crows.

streams,flow into another....... dimension.

Wireless, I am. Hung from a tree, mangled
with twigs. My face is covered with dirt from the souls of the earth.
Twigs were scraping the insides of my eyeballs.

I look up at the Black crows... they saw the insides of my soul....