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June 26, 2010
January 3, 2013

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I’m walking down the road when something hits me

like a bird that’s just been shot: paper,

unlined, with the edges and corners curled

by a long-gone downpour.

“. . .offset by dizzy days, bare bones, and swollen ankles?” 

the words are scars burnt into the butterfly-wing pages.

I wonder who would want such a brazen brand,

and also why this darkness won’t leave my head. 

it’s because I woke up

before the sun rose this morning. 

the darkness, that is. 

“. . .mobius strips and blackbirds won’t hold you until the end. . .”

oh, lies are always more convincing

when they’re in the form of words. 

words have a rhythm to them

that tugs your tongue in time

whether you want it to or not.

it’s charming, really.

an impulse compels me to tie the pages up into nothing more

than illiterate paper cranes, but I tell myself that no one likes pigeons;

they’re all looking for doves, doves, doves. 

“. . .tomorrow doesn’t have to seem so far away. . .”

the clammy wind catches the paper and I let it fly off

without a goodbye. I keep it in the corner of my gaze,

though whether it is a tiger or something less

dangerous, I cannot be sure. 

as it goes, it dances like a drunken sort of kite,

or maybe a snake. 

still, the mechanical fabrications all typed

out on that paper linger unbidden

in the recesses of my most dimwitted hallucinations. 

“. . .give us all you have and we’ll give you everything you want. . .”

an unwanted rain tap tap taps on the blacktop

as I finally make my way home.

I keep thinking, hey, that’s sort of catchy.