Crow Tyrannosaurus


You can read the critical analysis of the poem here.

Creation quaked voices–

It was a cortege

Of mourning and lament

Crow could hear and he looked around fearfully.

The swift’s body fled past


With insects

And their anguish, all it had eaten.

The cat’s body writhed


A tunnel

Of incoming death-struggles, sorrow on sorrow.

And the dog was a bulging filterbag

Of all the deaths it had gulped for flesh and the bones.

It could not digest their screeching finales.

Its shapeless cry was a blort of all these voices.

Even man he was a walking


Of innocents–

His brain incinerating their outcry.

Crow thought “Alas

Alas ought I

to stop eating

And try to become the light?”

But his eye saw a grub. And his head, trapsprung, stabbed.

And he listened

And he heard


Grubs grubs He stabbed he stabbed



Weeping he walked and stabbed

Thus came the eye’s roundness the ear’s deafness.

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