Two Penny’s Worth

Hey there,

old gravestone. I see the busted-up sustenance

that got you through those long years, left over

in your cracked marble made grey with grime.

I can count what I know on one hand. Death; there’s one.

Love is another. I love the crows that hang around here.

They’re far humbler than you and I; they’ll eat food off the road

and get out of the way of cars, and they won’t mind.

They’re smaller than ravens, but they hang around the outskirts and don’t complain.

Their eyes are little coals in the middle of all those sun-charred feathers,

and their beaks are little obsidian knives that cut to the heart of it.

You know what I’m talking about; the death thing,

that hangs around the outskirts of our minds that take themselves too seriously.

That’s the thing about crows; they’ll laugh at any king you throw at them.

They were beautiful too once, you know,

and still are, if you look and if you look well.

Look, someone left a bunch of tulips by this gravestone,

amid a cluster of yellow dandelions.

That’s got to count

for something.

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One thought on “Two Penny’s Worth

  1. This is my new favorite!

    I am going to read it tonight at the Vajrayogini feast.

    Love, Pops

    On Thu, May 4, 2017 at 5:24 PM, J. W. Armstrong wrote:

    > Old Possum posted: “Hey there, old gravestone. I see the busted-up > sustenance that got you through those long years, left over in your cracked > marble made grey with grime. I can count what I know on one hand. Death; > there’s one. Love is another. I love the crows that ha” >

    Liked by 1 person

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