Song Of Felix The Unborn Poem by Luke J. Holt

ungleeful baroness
you count far less these days

some empires cupped their hands and sipped ink-colored rain
poison for the survivors

crying, dazed and superfluous willow
its not over yet
stop screaming at nestled eagles
who lie
like rumpled quilts on the unsunny day you escaped the meaty bars of my love

clowns did juggle until famished
happy boys play folk guitars and trumpets in bright dance
and people smoke unfiltereds from soft packs and throw quarters and smile
for this is when war died
and no-one attended for it was woozily dreamed in a burned hospital in a nation avoided by travelers

soft, black egg
a pregnancy of pain
the first dead door
to a frightening wheeze of pewter the size of a star
you were born
and in a few of your decades you will consider this to have been a problem

blame the sparrow who got the storks drunk the night we all were born

blame the wolves who failed to abduct and raise me
blame a bomb that made the rain into blackened poison

follow the river and explode