Got burned in a fucking hole.
The feathers spitting, stinking.
Body parts moving.
The dead panic.
Warm smoke in the afternoon,
a hundred or more black clouds and
waves goodbye into the shitty grey sky.
Omnivorous flames eat the bodies
alive in here one last time, in the space I left in the garden
I meant for growing.
Cloudy eyes gawp,
haze over, bubble,
boil and pop, then
the short sounds of clucking
from the depths of steaming lungs and up into the throats
of the two hens in harmony.