Corvus

Out of nothingness, walking the thin line between

sleeping and dying. Out of the void to the free fall,

head disquietly shaking, face rubbing against the pillow,

mouth open gasping for any air left. Running saliva,

warm and wet, touching while sliding through the pillowcase,

the bitter taste of smoke.

On the rooftops of the neighboring houses

the crows scream like children being tortured to death; it is horrible,

and it wakes one into a life of horror, for that second believing

a nightmare to be just true. As reality sinks down I somehow

manage to stand up and put myself together again. Good morning,

I look at the clock, a life of its own, beating away, and it tells me it is 7.35am.

As I walk out of the bedroom I look for a stone

but end up being satisfied with a baseball I see on the table. I grab it,

my back turned to the balcony, still nothing but the sound

of crows screaming like crazy monkeys going mad; so I throw the baseball at them,

and watch as they fly away through the trees and into the sky, screaming further,

three big black birds; all right now, I think, now I can make some coffee.