Songbirds and almost-being
My tire pressure light has been on
since the cold sunk its bitter fangs into
the soft nerve endings rotting in my own.
False alarm, but I won’t check
to see if they need more air
I was stranded, the people at the bar took
such good care of me it made me
want to live in this world again,
to dance in the snow and feed the corvids
not with my body, but the peanuts I keep
The starling taunts me with her false alarms;
I’d like to think they know what
they’re doing to me but the sad part is that
The words have no translation,
murmurs and shards of sound
and empty shapes made only for
the sake of proving that they can.
No message after the chime,
weeping for its nonexistence.
( Confusion is the goal, I suppose,
but I’m certain of what it means
to me, which is that it means nothing,
and that is a meaning of itself. )
I saw my friend lying in a coma,
wide-eyed and terrified, and his eyes
are big and dark as coal on a good day,
but they were black holes in that
they stole the light from the room
and no amount of science will answer
where it could have gone.
Those coals grayed to ashes,
all the fire suffocated. I’ve seen
still alive, but I felt that ghost
weeping again for the diamonds that
could have been- I still feel it.
what they do for the ecosystem, nature’s
but I need them to wait their turn.
There is life left to be lived, phantoms
Fly away, now; I’ll make it up to you