Poésie pour le temps courant / Poetry for Current Times

You Will Never Find My Way

You will never find my way
I scratched my fingers
I went my bones to blood before I could scream
And all those mountains
Are not higher than my living walls

It’s an opacity
That cold scares my sight and you would go your way
But I sit on some branches
That lead up to sky and you would lost your mind

All the ways I went through
All the ways I’m dealing in a thorough kind
All the dime I’ve payed for
All the scary seasons that went on my path

It’s no way to deal with
I’m singing in the wind since I was reborn
All the birds in a sayin’
Are sitting on the same branch they called me a fool

And they were right
They were goddam right
I shook their hand and they told me the world
In a bunch of storms
In a murder of crows they called me a liar

And I am sitting
On the same branches
And i’m sitting
On the same branches waiting for the sun
To die

illustration : Corvus moneduloides, New Caledonian Crow, Catalogue of the Birds in the British Museum Volume 3, 1877.