Fifth Crow

Head rush on the bus, mind-boggle.

I pray for hemoglobin,

I—a moth,

lying on my mouth,

bleeding, like a motherfucker.

On (top of) and offensive in other words.

Here you are, ahead of all,

the crow, craning, you glisten,

and drag, an infinite next,

farther ahead, you see and drag

farther, into a stairwell, a ladder,

a lead in, to where,

a stairway, up to pfft down the drain,

from story to story,

upward and downward and heartward,

here, you see,

stands my balcony,

waiting while beckoning to

black stones.

The city a silent upright-piano wing.

You see the ravens pull together.

The eyeblink-moment’s armada.

You see the eyes tracking.

Light, like the golden giraffe

of good fortune. Slight

in the anthem of your day,

and how terrifying:

head rush, mind-boggle

on the bus, I—lightheaded,

lingo, vertigo.