Crows are clever.
They use sticks as tools,
speak non-idiomatic French,
start but do not finish cryptic crosswords.
Crows were the first to wear black to book launches,
to peck at wine while avoiding a rival.
A crow is watching you now.
It has your number in its little black book
probes the synapses of your brain
unfeathers your nest
has you where it wants you.
The crow is more inventive
than any of your lovers.
Nothing will ever be black and white again.
Here comes the pain, so bite on it,
the crow in your veins.
You're not going anywhere alone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem