inspired by a painting completed following a series of dreams that skulked my childhood
curse that coal bird
rounding my
dreams,
flyin’ lame as crooked
with a haggard
third wing,
bird tumbles,
barreling like balloon
half drunk with
water,
and i’m shaken
sober,
‘spite my own scorn
and comfort with
terror,
i’d never close in
on capture of
said bird,
now would you pass me
a fistful of capsules n’
sill’s stale glass
of water?
so, i waft as rot and steam
from fever’s bed
and pinky trace each
claw scratch on
my foggy
head.
