May 2021

[Kerbonzo_beenz]

The Second Comin's a carrion bird circlin
high above yer head.
Step out o' the shade an' strain yer neck,
you'll see it's there: God never left.
The gyre enfolds you. Pestilence, war,
famine: your breath knocked out
like you were trampled by horses, like you'd forgot
you're still standin with yer head bent back

an' the crow snatches out an eye
to the timeless tune o' Jesus Chariot     
stuck in yer head. A big red rooster
slouches towards his city to be born:
yer blood its comb, yer cries its crows---
Lord, would my house grow legs and go!

I liked the little neighborhood you've created in my head, can really visualize it.
This deserves some more attention, definitely.

I have one question, does the rooster represent the reader?
After being stuck inside the city so long-- 
never really growing up or learning sagnificantly
but trapped, and has no where to go?

If it is, props to you, if not 
I feel like that could be more of a main plot point you could be getting across.
Maybe you could elaborate a little more on that area as it is,
maybe not, I like the ambiguity of your poem.
It made me read a couple times over to appreciate it fully.