Mark my shoulder bones
With a trail of kisses,
Trace my spine with your lips.
Every vertebrae is a
Railroad track,
Yet I know not where it leads
Rather than the vast
Emptiness of my
Abandoned psyche.
Place your hands
Firmly upon the birdhouse
That is my rib cage
But be careful to not let the
Parakeet out.
I am not a mother bird
So I am not sure why
I have the constant urge to
Throw up my food
To feed someone else's
Ego-
Perhaps I am
The ugly duckling,
Constantly staring at
My own reflection,
Forever wading in the water
Of a reservoir of tears.
The forewarnings of my
Consequences go in one ear
And out the other,
Like water on a duck's
Back.
Press your fingers on my
Hip bones,
The desert dunes
They are,
And look to the sun,
My flaws have been
Torn out from me
One by one.
They say birds
Are the freckles
On the face of the sky,
I say birds are ignorant,
Those vile things
That feel obliged
To chirp and sing,
Nesting from tree to tree,
Harping all day,
Flying from their problems
And heading south
For the winter,
I say I am a bird.
Ignorant and vile,
Chirping vicariously
Through the trees
And the sky.
I say my freckles are
The freckles on the face
Of the sky,
For mine have been stripped
From my skin,
Another mindless flaw
So easily forgotten.
Look to the sun
And there you will see them,
The birds and my freckles
So daintily painted
Upon the infinite canvas.
Place your cheek upon
My collarbone,
Careful not to break it,
Hollow like that of a
Fledgling.
Tell me I'm beautiful,
Tell me good night.
Until there is nothing
Left to hold,
Hold me so tight.
