Elysabeth Faslund

Your feathers weren't enslaved by us.
Your babies were still fed by you.
Clouds clumped on the horizon,
White...not dark.
...

Can't write anymore,
Or start a car,
As the sun rises, peeks.
I need a mop.
...

Hawks wheel and dive this too early morning.
Night.
Not like that fool--Chestah Cheetah.
He don't go crunch.
...

You got vegetables for protein?
Good, great, scrumtiously correct.

Dee, dee, dee.
...

'Pretty Blue' flew down, feathers fluttering,
wings splayed for quick take-off,
lit in the midst of beaking sparrows,
and one, old, lone, big-ass crow,
...

586 poems I had entrusted to this Marmaduke
Site,
And they cannot give me ONE back
For a contest of value
...