Wallace Stevens - Vic Chesnutt

I saw a blackbird

Thirteen ways

And then strew a fist many

Mountains away

My evangelism felled

Brutally taken

By breezes that rubbed me

And lifted light raven

I stretched to borrow

Fine antebellum

To encase all the scrapings

Of us civilised fellow

I wanted to stash them

To secretive cages

With that fabulous blackbird

Of thirteen stages