The Liminal Man

Writings of a man born between worlds

Clever Girls

October 5, 2025

A deadly trio stalks our iris bed,
intent velociraptors, combed and sleek—
remorseless talons digging up the weak;
three lightning beaks devouring the dead.
They weave in concert—yellow, white, and red—
and sift my tired mulch with deadly chic,
consuming fuel for twenty eggs a week,
this queenly three, insistent to be fed.
How long have humans watched this chicken-dance—
two rapid scrapes, step back, and downward leer?
There's surely something ancient in my glance,
some brotherhood of which I'm now a peer,
as on my phone I scribble down these chants,
intending to preserve the moment here.