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As the Crow Flies, a Prose Poem by Joe Bisicchia


Cross and Crows - Poem Joe Bisicchia

Down the street there is a beast, from here unseen, and its howl hacks the night. It breathes out heat. Each gasp trailing like a swung whip. Otherwise, I know it is just another human being. Not too far back, the past may sense the future and run ahead. A week back its voice, then gentle, touched a flower pot not far from here, a place known as home, and a whistling song welcomed each breath of one dear. If only the present voice shall go quiet, and the posies instead the stars to hear. Stars are music, are they not? They twinkle. Not for all, and just as well, as my wounds arrive and my voice hardens its own horn. Mortal blows burnish with fire engines of siren to rush the hall and then holler to a sleepless world. The ceiling wrinkles. And what shall be next of this city’s night? No to the going of numb. Feather instead my wings. All the way home, over the streets, for here we are. In truth, none alone. Christ, O Truth, take my hand. You are the way. Over the crosses, over all the sting.


 

Joe Bisicchia writes of our shared dynamic. An Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for Mystical Poetry, he has written three published collections of poetry as well as over two hundred individual works that have been published in over one hundred publications. His fourth collection is forthcoming from Cyberwit. To see more of his work, visit www.widewide.world.



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