bird song

bird song

published in zoeglossia

jamie hale

each winter   convinced that   i am dying

the signs        point to no     the crow balanced

on my            hospital bed            laughs     i

do not laugh back             it’s how the days

curl in      on themselves       wincing from cold

they do not wish to be out        after dark

                        and suddenly   

my scalp is bleeding       it must be       the bird

or you       it is hard to tell men     from winged

demons       you ponderous     you slick with oil

and rotted fish      maybe     i become a bird myself      

gash the scalp     of the child.     who does not wish

to be out          after dark        who does not wish

                        to become a bird

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