sharp staccato chattering
of the splendid
times
we all
had, gone
before
we knew it
like a bat out
of hell and high
water didn’t I tell you
not to breathe a word of it,
to just hold
your breath, stop
your non-stop cawing
and eat,
crow?
new old kid on the blog, with an occasional old or new poem written off the old writer's block