who knows if this design will agree to
finally fly but the caves in
the round curves of the vast rolling
hills of the summer clouds call so
sweetly to the lonely bird in my chest
Tag Archives: bird
TV from
before the
crisis and
maybe knocked
down by the
storm a small
round fluff bird
cries past the
window and
the fat dog
awake now
with eyes wide
sometimes there’s nothing human you can do
the white sky mo(u)rning a single bird across
the courtyard bricks for a new pyramid
so where can you go how can you
think after they refuse to be
born it
won’t help
steer this weary ox from
the prized flowers won’t re
construct the squirrel’s bones
this breath or the next or that
night bird over a lawn without
color some itch on some list
Tell me, if I walk the bridge
and nothing escapes do I
still plant a seed in secret?
and though I’ve made so many plans
when I look in the mirror by accident
before a shower a small bird tumbles
down the stair forgetting about wings and so
we come to this moment when momentous
things may be mouthed into the shabby mirror
of the sky and from the neighbor’s apartment
something like a snort or sigh
I lift the pen but why my eyes slide down this poison face
but the sound of a bird I can’t
the glow of the sun
sinking what
else can I say
I waited too long and they’re already cleaning up so I grab some trash and throw it away they tell me to keep moving
when I slept in the forest those long years between research grants
salad days between immunity and editing
people always said I gave up too easily and mostly through song for some reason but that’s really none of my business you see I’m only paid to write these instruction manuals
leafing at monster cello sorry
it’s these new plant-based teeth
and the weight of this uniform from lack of sasquatch in the spring
did you see it that time like a flash of silver at the corner of your eye but never mind it was nice to see you again and we really should get together and no that’s OK I have utensils at home
Or a Musical
like a bird flying
past the window you
notice in the corner
of your no let’s
assume it was a bird and
the little early
spring flowers by
bending
down to
look blue
white purple you want to
reach for it
but don’t
want to scare
away that thought
running down the corridor
rattling
every knob
like one of the
doomed you
root for
in a horror movie
Wednesday
this always wound
the urge
to see giraffes,
buy a shining
espresso
machine, bespoke
shoes
yet
with a mouth
stuffed with sugar
demand more
from
a bird
crushed by
the car you drive away in
of course no one believes you when you say it’s over through the familiar bird sound and I don’t feel like it yet stop interrupting me though it is what I pay you for
other animals 