Path of Raven

my spine a walking cane
 my crumbling clothes and broken road
 carved with wheel marks in the mud down the neck of the hills
 chased the croak of scavenger birds
 street corner to street corning dragging cast out by the innkeeper
 go from here
 grasp the handle of the pushcart to drive it across the crowd
 how far to throw them so not to know them
 a colorless procession except for the flags they never cease to wave
 but when they cross my path I walk the other way
 where the magpie sings us a car alarm pulled up by a starling flock once again
 from gathering parchment from the lack bottom to dry off under the fire escape
 in caverns of entrance ways or anywhere there
 I'm laying to hide the sleep in rain