For some reason this text looks better to me in a slightly larger font.
I have some nifty pictures from Paraguay.
This is the penultimate poem in the birds series. I may or may not post the final installment next week. I am all hot or miss lately.
I feel this is whimsical, whereas the others were angsty, dark, and tormented.
I like the "moaning refrigerators" even though it's something crit partners would tell me to take out.
BIRDS # 4
The zipper on the bird suit is stuck. I tug at it, and the lower half of the suit stretches with my yanking. Where did you rent this thing anyway? The feathers close about the front facing zipper -- concealing the brassy teeth. No wonder eagles are dying off: you would also seek extinction if you needed to rely on ancient merchandise like this zipper for those times when National Geographic dives in for the close-ups -- birds don't worry about whiter teeth. It is a shame to be stuck halfway inside a bird suit. A posed centaur: instead of a horsey-human, I am half fowl and half Homo sapien, part aviator-part biped, feather and skin. I practice a precision squawk, or an accented hoot. But it is less effective than the vocalizations of a fully costumed bird. It is kind of pathetic. And especially after I have planned for weeks to dress up in the bird suit, burst through the window, and dive bomb my wife. She has a thing about birds, and I have decided to be her knight in shining feathers. I won't stumble; I will flap gracefully -- upon the wings of zephyrs -- landing without footfall at the end of her bed. I will spread my wings and enfold her --squawking and hooting mercilessly. My polished beak will catch the light of a dozen suns to rattle her. My plumage will touch her in those hard to reach places. We will nest together and keep all of our eggs in moaning refrigerators. Instead of that evening of gorging, instead of a night where loosened feathers flutter over the sheets, I have my finger clenched to an impassive zipper.
Reflect and connect.
Have someone give you a kiss, and tell you that I love you.
I miss you so very much, Mom.
Talk to you tomorrow, Mom.
- Days ago = 458 days ago
- Bloggery committed by chris tower - 1610.05 - 10:10
NOTE on time: When I post late, I had been posting at 7:10 a.m. because Google is on Pacific Time, and so this is really 10:10 EDT. However, it still shows up on the blog in Pacific time. So, I am going to start posting at 10:10 a.m. Pacific time, intending this to be 10:10 Eastern time. I know this only matters to me, and to you, Mom. But I am not going back and changing all the 7:10 a.m. times. But I will run this note for a while. Mom, you know that I am posting at 10:10 a.m. often because this is the time of your death.