Black desert scarab–

Stink beetle–

Staggers in jagged circles

Across the desert mosaic…

Dense little licorice tank,

He is too black for this place,

Cannot blend anywhere,

And rambles as if from the exhaustion of not belonging.

Yet the Raven is Black–Unknown

So black he too turns blue.

He carries his belonging with him, inside him,

In the Wh!Wh!Wh!Wh! of his wings,

Which sweep away all question of belonging,

And he lands with full (and comical) entitlement

Upon the cedar branch too limp to bear his weight,

And yet it does,

Through his sheer will to belong.


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