There were three hanging crows
and a firelight flashing between them
their twitches danced in death
on their noosed up tied perfectiion
with their breath now all forgotten
as their wing beats remembered
in the winds that carried their cries
Three hanging crows
in nooses woven through
the thoughts of an old man
holding a knife to his throat
wishing he was worth it
or something different than his
Three hanging crows
behind them shadow of a firelight
and a smoke of suffocation
and nothing in between
and nothing down below
but three hanging crows
hanging from a stage
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