An Explanation for That Flock of Crows - Algebra Suicide

A thread of birds has settled outside your door

Spring is coming, and you lean back

Waiting for its root-juicy kiss

Politely, charmingly

Once during a summer

You came without shoes, without any maps

And settled into my elbow

While this hemisphere turned blue

We were urban, unkind animals

And I never once thought of Champagne

How often you’d want me to tell you your future

Show me your palms, the lumps on your head

As if I knew what my mother knows best

How to inflame things at a distance

Now you think of me with a casual chuckle

Now you save me like an auctioned-off bon-bon

Brought out on a doily for guests to admire

I know, and it’s all in my pocket

Just press your ear against your back door

There’s a sound I’ve sent

It’s there to haunt you

Like a cello, like a buzzsaw

I hope you’re enjoying yourself