Here again, i'm cradled by the unreleasing arms
Of the white, shot sun's grim descent
It always finds me frantic, unprepared
I try to talk myself into some kind of world of understanding
Find empty auditorium seats
I'm seeking an audience
I'm truer than I can stand
How've I fallen yet again?
Did I ever stand?

Upon a series of sweet tragic events
Found my birds of paradise
Dashed and bleeding against each violet bruised night
Thrown like darts into the space above to feign
Figures of divinity, or star lights

All but silent
Crooning at me much too longingly
So loudly from the swollen, splitting past In the wake of another resistant dawn Why now? Why not then?
I wait for my royalties, my redemption
Putting in no hours; work is hard, and im unhappy

If I'm unable to cash these void checks written by a hopeful hand
If my pennies from heaven won't rain and I'm made to sign my resignation before the eyes of
Both birds of paradise and birds of prey
Then I'll surely die the broken-winged sparrow I'd masked and swallowed for 20 odd years

Bird watching was a better time
Before I could differentiate
The rigid ravens from the crooning crows
The vain vulture from the forgiving Phoenix
Before all winged assailants and memories
Began this somber, relentless symphony
Imperative and contemptuous, they cry.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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