linnet's trill

here is a bird
here is a chasm
here is the bark of a mangy cur
here is a song
song for tomorrow
lost in the forest
it is hung from the trees
hung like a conker
shine shine spike die
hung like a sycamore
more more more
hung like a daydream
knotty and wet
hung like a boy
the boy who stole an apple
hung like a painting
languid and forgotten
here is the sexton
here is the slave
here is the morbid
hope we crave
just like emily bronte
singing songs of wanton coldness
with no limit to their silence
shall we race her to the graveside
by the linnets’ rocky  trill?