Crows and Fishes by Tim Evans

I am not a silent poet

The stars stare down like silver
On the angels in the snow
And on the angels’ killer
And on the carrion crow.

The old year turns its crooked back
Its bones poke through the skin.
I follow the eternal tracks
Of the twisted shape I’m in.

It was never my intention
To steal away your face,
For in the fourth dimension
There is no time or space.

The hunting dogs so gaunt and still
That dreamed the moon away
Now course the started hare until
The night bleeds into day

You knew it would be hours
From the darkness of retreat
Till your life returned to power
In the power of the street

In the back seat of the car
You pack away the time
And the livid, frost-white scar
Is evidence of the crime.

They thought they could accuse you.
What kind of shit is that?
Slander and abuse…

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