A mother is tearing her feathers out
because her baby is lost on the ground
and there is nothing she can do
but keep on looking down and making noise
for nothing.
They put it in a tissue box and use a rubber band
to hold it to the tree so that maybe
they could find a way to meet again.
The restaurant is barely full
but the parking lot is always
overflowing as if everyone was driving there
alone.
I put my headphones on and try to find
the right song for this nightly drive
back home where there are glass orbs
in the garden and some piles
of ash left over in the driveway.
Nicotine is nice sometimes like the taste
of lime with anything that’s bitter.
When I am with her I can see as far
as I want to see,
as if there’s nothing out there stopping me,
and my wings have finally broken free
so painfully while bleeding over everything.
Teleporting Typewriter 