another lung lonely
with those birds on the line squawking and shitting
blabbing about how to hide the sun
destroy the trees eat more than their bodies
have shit in them to shit more than their bodies can shit
there is no breath untouched no love in the day
their wild wings are the old fold of a dress
showing that there are nights that never end
and can crush the windpipe of a great singer’s voice
who used to be the husband of you
cooing mornings losing evenings
telling telling telling you
the beautiful spoiled vegetable
the tendered thinker
that a pineapple is a luxurious ball gown
a peach is an entire human
a cherry is whatever you need it to be
as you are tied now
inhaling a whole universe in your mouth
the birds do not quiet as you exhale
hovering over the shit with your power
just enough to go on
Mizpellt wurdz 
Once I ate five times my own weight to store up enough energy for a flight. And yet I still could not fly like a bird. I sang to a bird trapped in an old smoke house with a fly dead in a spider’s web and somebody lost a lung and a salmon that could not spawn up a river without a paddle, or without a cherry or a lunch, and her life folded like an undressed day with birds of paradise on a line never crossed to play the bagpipes that drone in battles lost.
Posted by Doug | August 30, 2018, 10:37 amha, sounds just like me!
Posted by kacperniburski | September 2, 2018, 3:41 pm