Some Idea About Birds

Supermarket cool,

I saunter down the avenue,

acknowledging height with a nod.

Perched on a chain link fence,

bleeding,

some idea about birds.

I wept once,

and the bluejays turned a

mysterious shade of wisteria.

Spectral women love the glitz

more than me,

which is to say they don’t love

me at all,

which is to say I love glitz.

In my own plastic Paris,

The shops sell angelic wings

sewn with glistening webbing.

Yesterday’s neighbor

smiles benevolently on me,

her eyesight restored,

her loneliness a cloud on

her daughter’s rooftop in

the city of breath.

I am a trespasser here,

A bird in the stratosphere.

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