DEADBEAT IN THE MEANTIME
by Jay Baron Nicorvo
A vast unkindness passed through hearts, and so
the heart, that dumb bird tongue, was eighty-sixed.
Each fist was tasked with breaking and unhinging
the stubborn sternum of the farthest guest.
In this meantime, Deadbeat reached to transplant
a lesser cluster from the neglected dark.
He, self-mocking, claimed Corvus, while others
sought Musca, Fornax or Crater after Crux.
As Crow, playing its part, plucked itself raw,
bled and beat, our hero
ever-guessed his choice.