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Kestrel
Hunter MacKenzie Smoky rise of land behind, mist hangs Dark crest of scraggy pines, sunset Apollo sears the retina, do not gape do not Stare in mental dismemberment as you are doing now, My princess - One kestrel silhouette charred against that burning disk That is me And the same fire that warm-blankets mountains Now singes, scars, ignites this place Here I fall with no wind to hang on Into the inferno I wear shaman's blues Withering There is no life on these burning sands I rested on the wind Suspended A Hanged Man Cries lost and found By earthdwellers who could not decipher the language And so cared not to care Once I flew ... Now sightless eyes Navigate by magick And the sounds of the wind On these fields of ancient wars Dead men will not be still Grass will not grow on sand-covered graves Flowering southland in the spring is a diabolic myth Awakening leather limbs unfold Claws grasping for breath Choking in a thick broth of morning cement Windows crusted with sand in the folds Drugs - sleep - dirty dreams behind the scenes Today's flight is cancelled Due to the extinction of our species. © Copyright 1992, 2001, 2003, 2004 by Hunter MacKenzie |