You clank when you walk, as if you were a rototiller on edge tearing ditches into public roadways
You are a bird ill conceiving possible notes beyond the intersection of the Grand and I
I step into your footprints dancing to a chorus of ukuleles and curmudgeons
I worship silkworms, grant them existence through hindsight and rumination
so that the organization runs on the fly with soft sputtering wings
I watch the cockatiel watching me, another like me in need of attention
and I am ashamed because I’ve felt lonely and I see the condition of his cage.
He begins singing loudly, then adjusts his cadence in reaction to my sigh
Boundaries fixed and unfixed, those that coerce the bleeding of all the pent up flies,
I imagine them awake, those flies, stuttering with assertions for like minds
Will this day stand to meet me in context, or will it tarry me through potholes and mines?