Three & Ten Blackbirds, the carrion of friendships (Poem)

You made of me an acrobat for your balance beam,

across your stage,

you forced my dance,

my hand,

as I'm closing in on New Orleans.

And the snows behind

you,

a sweet Wisconsin dream,

but I'm closing in on New Orleans.

And the grass is green,

unlike it was before,

because I left those ashes,

late in the night,

across that empty northern hemisphere.

Bound for a southern swoon in winter clothes,

tearing at my seams,

as I close in on New Orleans.

And I thought it was a sister's prayer,

I sang for you,

when I rescued you there.

But the flames,

they licked,

they burned my hair.

Like claws,

and bird beaks that rip and tear.

Before, a time I thought you cared,

and tears have stained what we called dreams--doesn't matter now,

I'm closing in on New Orleans.

See those crows?

It's thirteen black birds says New Orleans.

One of the saddest ends I've ever seen.

And I'll smoke the spliff,

inhaling,

like the disease that snatched away your father's breath.

The only flame that I have left,

of you.

And maybe it will be the death of me,

but if you see those thirteen crows,

know,

perhaps it's old lost friends come to sew,

the gash in you.

You loved them,

thought you loved me too,

but I'll burn these bridges like you asked me to.

And if you see the thirteen crows,

then count them out,

until the last.

They caw the curse,

the lies,

this task.

It's thirteen black crows says New Orleans.

So sad,

so sad,

this vulgar scene,

the saddest end,

I've ever seen.

bvk, 2020.