Crows on Concrete

She lies a sidewalk
burning souls, dying
on a summer night
morosely ascetic
hair curling, curled earlier
a precarious charm
meant as curative
for another weekend
entombed, concrete feet.
Crows, satin cackles, claw
obsolete across her lips
unaware of the introverted
oddity, feeling
tonight, distinctly, alone.

SS

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