Raptor | Rapture

A gullet or a guillotine?

 

Was I nestled, lulled, in a crooning throat

or snared by the blades of a beak?

 

Perched near my ear

a caw, a cry,

a croak which splutters

coarse and gravel-dry:

 

‘Perhaps it was both, my dear.’

 

In epidermal dreams I still condone

its carrion-kiss:

the rummage; the ravage;

the scimitar-split of my trunk so wide,–

 

Wide as an avian eye.

 

It pecks past my bones like an off-white xylophone,

plucking my entrails like strings.

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