Monday, April 16, 2007

Poem #106 of 365

All the croaked animals
today get splayed
and displayed on
city streets, backyard

The last canary feathers
were white and
disparate, but the bird
who survived
now winces
on a distant branch
as Ted hovers with
butterfly net.

The guts of another species
make Main morbid as
one suv after the
next straddles the
flesh in mincing steps.

It's springtime, and all
is dead around me.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

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