“Scarecrow” By Alan Montes

the crows obey the metronome of traffic
circling above the rotten scarecrow
stuck, hung, unable to flee heresy
nor dark coronation

the fleet of crows come together to
mold the dark crown
above the immobile head of
rot and too much thought

the crows come together like clay
dry above the head wet with blood
sweat of blood, dried, crusting the
infinite layers of mask underneath

dry into a cracking realm of space’s
solid continuum. Halloween. Fall falls
into the black boiling pot, the rituals
reboot, the fires, catatonia of night, eyes.

Mice navigate the crackles and folly
of imperfection, dry black holes
crusty pyres, dry tires, the crows ascend,
leave to pursue the next feat of calling

Alan Montes is a poet living in San Antonio TX. He has poetry forthcoming at Bitterzoet Magazine.

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