Prelude from the novel, Through the Kindness of Ravens

Mile-Marker Birds

Listen to the words
Of the mile-marker birds
Tell you where you’ve gone
Astray and wrong
And which way you should turn
 
Their mile is not a mile
But of territorial style
Yet they’ll tell you with a smile
That a mile is a mile … is a mile … is a mile
 
Hey, Mr. Redwing
Point me to the next scene
Like the billboards to the ball of twine
Your wings signal “stop”
But I insist that it’s a “go”
At least get me to the next in line
 
Perched upon the tallest reed
Pointing not with hand but beak
You lead me to a demon seed
Voiceless, yet to me you speak
A link in a living breadcrumb trail
Not of crust
But one of feathered tail
 
I drive and drive
Music off, windows down
Listening … listening … listening
But so far, none make a sound
That is not to others, but in my head
You are the voices I must drown
 
In mass, a collage of noise to me
Your auditory dark potpourri
From mass, I will seek specificity
A singular voice of resounding clarity
I will take command of it
Make it a slave to me
Display it as an example
To strike fear in thee
For I control you, and not you me
For I control you, and not you me