469

is it the bird that cries
the end of the day
another session of wishing
to be in another’s eye
to hang all day long
without an ego

push in plastic
but I was built for wood fires and fear
and no
I’ve never slept all by myself
or lied without barking without shaking
all the dreams from my skin

it’s just tumbling like a wheel
a length of time without wonder
what was I supposed to be?