The Dice Changer

T
Raven steals your name for an autumn joke:
buries it along with you under the broadest hemlock
known to squirrel or chipmunk.
He croaks it’s too bad you were awake for the event.
He accuses you of boring him
with the same old questions over and over.
You attempt revolt to prove his rattle
is cracked and as brittle as his song.

Raven clacks his beak like a trap and hollers
your face is a mask splitting down the middle
and madness has found a home.
All stink and fur dung, the black master
quips you had a chance to flee
but forgot where and what direction.
Now he blurts your pain must jump in the river,
the river thrash like the wind,
the mountain awaken you to the currents of the sea.
Raven hops away and chuckles as the dark chatters,
flips you over to your earth shadow.




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