Spring 1985 • Vol. VII No. 2 Poems from "The Death of Cock Robin"April 1, 1985 |

from The Death of Cock Robin: Call for Clues

(After the paintings of DeLoss McGraw)    Okay, you leaves up there, come clean; Your turn to sing out: whattaya seen? You can't just perch there high and mighty Whispering, rubbing your palms politely. Speak up; someday you gotta tumble Down in the dirt, red-faced and humble Just like him. Now, who done this bird? Whattaya seen and whattaya heard? Cough it up, clouds; you're on the hook. Don't give me no vague, wandering look. Maybe you're short on shape and "It-ness"; We know damn well you was a witness. You took in loads; you been aroun'; It weighs on you; it's a bringdown Holding back. Spill it all, posthaste: Who brung that bird out here to waste? Okay, you stars, you sun and moon, Pipe up; we're here to cop your tune. You gone past here, so come acrost. You gonna let his tunes get lost, Buried in self-important sounds Or dead air, then just go your rounds? Ain't no tight-lipped, black hat can frighten us. You high-flown, radiant types, enlighten us. Liste

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By W. D. Snodgrass

(After the paintings of DeLoss McGraw)    Okay, you leaves up there, come clean; Your turn to sing out: whattaya seen? You can't just perch there high and mighty Whispering, […]

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