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Writer's pictureHelen Laycock
May 151 min read

RAVENOUS

I know... You thought at first it was about a bird.

RAVENOUS She caws from the twisted fingers of the lightning tree, a bubble of mottled yellow blood pulsing in her nostrils, white sparks writhing in the dark holes where her clotted eyes have sunk into her mud-slicked skull. Sparsely scalped with lank, wet feathers, she squats on haunches, breath grating the wind to putrid cloud, charred bones splintering for sustenance, and waits salivating for the sweet bouquet of a tender child beneath an owl-punched moon… Then she leaps, a black explosion, teeth dripping like candlewax as she gobbles and pinks.
The darker side of poetry...

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