Two Hallucinations

With the sickness, the hallucinations returned. Blackbirds swooped soundlessly onto the naked branches of a tree, held crooked postures against the singed clouds, the spools of twilight reeling. Opened their beaks, bearing worms, twigs, other mouths. I could be heard speaking to myself. Called out the names of the sacrosanct and the damned. Listed, as always, the benefits that conspire against the willing soul. As the fever swelled, the birds disappeared & bats collected beneath the branches, swinging from invisible claws, red pools glistening beneath their lids which momentarily opened. Light shuddered across the horizon, but they didn't budge, nor would they until this sickness passed.