Two-hundred and Twenty-four: blackbirds

he gave me a bouquet of four and twenty blackbird feathers.
i put them in the vase of my empty heart and watered them
with my avoidable tears. the feathers flourished. and when
i was done crying, i picked them one by one and i sharpened
every tip. i made four and twenty quills and wrote this poem.

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Alexia

I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

6 thoughts on “Two-hundred and Twenty-four: blackbirds”

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