The anxiety of starlings

November 5, 2017

There is the wonder,

in the anxiety of the starlings.


and starved.

How beauty

can fall out of something,

how their shiver made a whale.


A sky-dance 

of a fattening shadow.

Round and full,

stretching and curved.

They are the pitch and duration,

on a stave,

of the supersonic candy floss,

sitting on the coral birth.


Like a fluxing crown

above the lines of cut slate,

the black church dagger,

and the empty carpark mile,

all, still to roll over to life,

a drowning chorus 

of a hundred thousand frightened mouths.

The dance of ghosts,

in their solid state.


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