Metamorphosis

Pigeon hole

These are days soaked of bubble bath dirt
And I, the weedy layer of viscous froth
seven times I stuck a weary question into my mouth
Gulped, munched, crunched down the left wind throat
March leaves make out in a banyan home;
verandah of a fertile land on the lorn pit
seven days a week, wet coughs and answer bells
He's a mere pigeon. Grey, black and white simultaneously
He doesn't look like to look at me anymore
dig o dig o dig a tunnel at tomorrowland
he likes to peck on hope flour and promise grains.
I don't feed him, only my fears wrapped in bliss garb
ochre windowsill, coy of a empty cupboard
shelveless books,still prettier than a hollow head.
I can only give him stealthy stares;enough.
catch his wing air loop with a pound of my heart flying
stealing sight with the leftover buried to the mint
And a stamp up my breast could not tell what was alive
seven summers gone I coo him, I tried, I tried, I tried.
But please don't ask me to swear to the Lord of the trembling twig
That's how you catch a lie dissected of tri fork feet
that's when he starts to sing on the twig of timbre wood
'tis but an isle on an aisle full of timbre
hold my wings and let the sky go back home'
with the birdsong, poop laden the iron frame gate
it's a place of deserts for the crying dead walkers
I can't smell infancy and the disgrace it brings to me
don't choke my mind with gingerbread snaps
grown is a woman of lust; not lured by puerile whiff
blur by the window he's a pigeon out of burrow holes
traps of chide scars don't mark his journey prints
I throw the window open. Come chirp chap the room
Pause. Maybe he's scared of my witch hair and sunk eyeballs
he likes a place with the living people, he trills
on funeral days his friends warble for nuts of dead squirrels
today, they came to celebrate his birdsong
Twitter. Ah, you're only a pigeon and my ears are zealous
A tone deaf flesh at that. Hah.
Beyond your imagination I have failed you
Don't pray for my afterlife please , please. Instead
in my other death fill me in your mouth, take my name
walk over my left lungs and touch the atoms
with dance feet
And a birdsong for a tone deaf phone , organic tweedle
today they have come to toast the parsimonious bedlam
at least hold a note for the squirrel on the neighbour wood
Eh, last wishes are just as bovine as the first fawns
Lay me down in a pigeon hole, sweet
I pardon the slip of hands if ever,
don't you know, I tried, I tried, I tried.