On the Way I once Perched my Words: A Poem



There are vultures on the phoneline

at the corner of Harlem and Hopeful.

I think they must be waiting for something because they are always there.

I once heard they wait for fairies;

I once heard they wait for death.

It seems they never soar;

they flap their wings but never fly;

they turn their beaks noiselessly.


Sometimes, during lightning storms, I stand in the street and watch them die.


I think they are the ugliest birds

(they are always scowling discontent) and

I only hope they regrow their feathers.

I only wonder, what holds them back?

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Wade Lancaster

I could tell you more about me. However, I think you will find us far more interesting, if we share more about ourselves. What do you say?

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