Bird Men

Bird Men


he sits under the nightingale tree

waiting to catch

those notes which are heavy

enough to fall

into a resin bowl

pierces them

with steel needle

to make them real

strings them on

decimated vines

to garland

anyone who asks him


a lark is

unpicking his spirit

grasping it by

thread ends at his ear

drawing it like floss

up his throat and out the window

to drop it drifting on a cloud

we find him there

each day

eyes a little darker

frayed smile

hanging from one cheek  



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