the birds you’ve become

my mouth all full of flies
my tongue a bed of maggots
these are all lies
all i taste is the tragic

i sing of the falling before the bridge has been built

the birds sweep the sky
a million or more traveling in silence roiling like storm clouds
they do not doubt me do not fear me there is nothing in their eyes of me
and yet i open my mouth and let the flies pour out to feed them
so that they keep going

north or south
east or west

so that they keep twisting like cursive from an old man’s hand
like your hair dripping wet from out of the lake or the river
it doesn’t matter
no i guess it doesn’t much matter now
whether we sweat or we shiver
there is nothing but emptiness in this winter

the water is all freezing and yet the flies are still breeding
deep in my gut somewhere in my lungs they are sleeping just waiting
to arise with the morning sun
to twist their way up towards home in the throats of the birds you’ve become


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