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< back : index : next >    An Unkindness of Ravens : by Rebecca Lu Kiernan

C o u n t e r   O f f e r
The darkness of your amnesiac plains
Smells like a carcass picked clean,
Sounds like the blue-black silence of a raven,
Feels like the paralysis of lavender snow,
Tastes like the desert hawk's dream
In the coma that precedes starvation death.

I'm mailing you a package, postage due,
Cactus starcage lilies with baby's breath,
A torn fishnet stocking,
A book by Pushkin, molded by the flood,
The fake Warhol from the opera,
A missile from the battleship, Destroyer.

Trouble is,
I don't know where to send it.
Guess I'll give it to my lawyer
To forward to the defendant.



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