Anodyne

By Michelle Levy Schulz



23rd Street’s Crow
is majestic even in repose.
Larger than a chicken
bent over in the dumpster
with ebony feathers fluffed.

Hallucination of what the crow could tell me.
Other thoughts are like confetti or
fake food flying into the audience
the shingle at the back of their tongues
finding damage in the plastic artifice.

I’ve seen him before
over the awning of a taco store.
When I stopped then
in admiration
a cocked eye clocked me looking.


Michelle Levy Schulz is a poet and a writer living in a tall tower in East Williamsburg, Brooklyn. She likes to make eye contact with hawks if they swoop by when she is at her desk looking out the window. Her work has appeared in BlazeVox, EOAGH, Poets for Living Waters, Reflections on Little Eagle Creek, and SRPR Spoon River Poetry Review. Some of her poems are published under Myl Schulz because naming and identity are complicated.

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