Crow and Coal

Tasty isn't the same thing as tasteful,
every stretchmark in the cosmos rewrites it
in cosmetic declaration.
A whole gallery of early-risers,
their every word and thought
needing perception

to be clear and remembered.
We are the spawn of a desire
to flow and specialise in
trying to think higher.

Horizon pastes itself all over the windows,
teasing between hills with open-shut arms.
There's crowing and calling to rise and shine,
follow the dawn, be prepared to disarm.

The gas replaces coal and wood,
just how it is.
Moving on with things,
working parts and more realistic pleasure,
more tired pain too used to be essential.

I want to be remembered by the
hollow slap of
throat on wood,
pen to paper,
heart to heel.

AN: 'think this fits better as "history" but there was no category :-(