Another Day, Another Dolor
Saturday, January 18, 2014
THE UNFEATHERED BIRD
Without ever raising
the question of circles, preferring the greater gravity of descent, the ease of
downhill progress, what are we?
Less than fledgling,
novices at our gorilla shape.
The anchor, in other
words, going to its place, slips down the incline; the bones thicken in scale,
from bird to man and down. A mood tumbles into a thing, a warbler, amplified to
the mechanism of not flying. We go along with our bones, ideas that companion a
growing weight, sinkers racing to the bottom.
axeblade drives into the wood. Like the rain, we fall, tieclips, and
matchbooks, and Chapsticks, and paperclips, and staples, and bottlecaps.
(Published in Abraxas, 1987)