Unable to Remember.

Blackbird singing a common song

Echoes through a barren waste.

Ring, the singsong sung song

Is sweet gay and yet debased--

Pleats dust into devils to heckle a sun-- erased.

Blackbird beats a dulled grey wing

Stirring thoughts of something lost.

Lost to sweet and glad and spring

Vanished from the works of Frost--

Banished to some cliché land of the lost.

Blackbird blinks a cold wet eye

Sheds indifferent tears upon a stump

Which once contained a summer’s sigh

And Stood far larger than the lump

That now is twisted-- like wise-woman’s slump.

Blackbird Cries with Human Screams

Blackbird Flies with Humans Wings

Blackbird Falls in Human Flaws

Blackbird Crawls with Human Claws.

Blackbird steps with a broken foot

Drags its body from the scene

No use in Trying where the pure is Soot

And cobwebs climb in what once was green

And there’s nothing left to stir with wind or song or scream.

-Geneviève Perdue