Dispatch the Flies
       

A black finch sits on a black branch never wanting
more than praise for soothing.
He proposes himself as the first form
dressed in weight, sunken into the seen
while beyond his edge the subtle goes on
unclaimed.

A black finch sits on a black branch
blind to the brutalities of speculation.
Atrocity of yes and atrocity of no.
Listless in the stillness he becomes
the subject of his own dismissal.
He decides he is untrue
no place for reversal.

A black finch sits on a black branch and fails.
He becomes an aspect of the branch
absorbed by what he borders.
But his mind, as yet unstill, is like a birth of flies
before the dawn that brings the light
like a pyre.

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Copyright © 2016 Andrea Baker All rights reserved
from Each Thing Unblurred is Broken
Omnidawn
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission