carrion

   

i shudder

as the vulture inside
unable to beat its wings

presses its heart against my ribs
and rattles them with a pulse

like the beat that trucks lend windows
when they rumble by at night

when i sleep

my hands are crossed over its heartbeat
so morning finds them

numb from all the shaking

and i can't tell what they hold

among their fingers

i pound them on my chest
and when they open again
streams of black feathers
drift from my mouth.