477

and what am I but a sparrow upon a cheek
snared in a net of hair and skin
hoisted by fathers until dizziness
takes hold of me and consumes my
faded mind. the urge to scream
passed
dissolved into dew
only to be revealed another day
with renewed spite and piercing consumption.

so then is it not enough for a man to weep
shall he tear open his cavities
relinquish the spirits nestled within
his grey bones

the whimpering of an orchestra
compels the departure of whatever morality
young lungs kept alive
and all I carry is a beating compass
one only fools can make sense of