the blackbird lands—
inside the empty room was where the men
dreamt many futures,
planned many things,
died, never having sung,
knowing only jeopardy
the blackbird sings—
it trills, quips,
spins the deep silence of the forest
into happy madness,
then dives, hops, ferrets for fun
through its own endless histories
Thanks for checking out my poem.
Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!