exchange numero tres

This is exchange number three... I've saved my poem with the picture, as a jpeg, so that the formatting is visible; the use of space is actually integral to the poem. However, it may be difficult to read, so the text of the poem is included below (enjoy! though it lacks the impact of the original), but lacks the formatting:

Brutal, this
precariousness
of life always
dancing on edge.

There are two ways out
and they are not a door, but
a window.

Rent limbs feeding
young, and whether one hawk

or fifty
dark scavengers

war or dreaming
with flagrant violence
or, as some go, peacefully

wounded earth
will one day heal.

The ecology of death
still bears
the shape of ancients.

A murdered boy
will bury his mother
for the crime of speaking

and yet
slender blades
will burst from sand
green and fresh

time will run
backwards

no one suffers
the indignity
of worms and maggots
doing what they know

like this

flesh and bone
a bone feast, offering

alms for the birds.