K: Rhombus Grows

Rhombus Grows

Unborn, but conjured
From a hidden depth
His black eyes watching
The road kill struggle
A weak wing flapping
In the breeeze of passing wheels
As a grey mist descends.

Grey lips smile, or sneer
At the breasts of motorists
As he steps, on long unbending legs
Into the road
Broken and flattened, the bird is gone
Just bones and feathers remain
But he peels it from double white lines
That stretch away to east and west
Ignoring the screams of cars that pass
And breathes upon the tyre-maimed flesh
As if to awaken it with a kiss
Before swallowing it whole.