the bark, the flesh:
i am a man of feathers
no, no, not a bird.
a feather-man
a falling-leaves-man.
/
the finest verse, am i not?
an installation of falling apart
no, no, not a bird
flying scares me.
/
a feather-man.
a heap of leaves and uhu
"sehr gut"
lights, camera, collapse
/
your stained-glass dagger
"ich bastel mir 'ne schwert"
my hollow cape, a pair of wings
too sluggish to fly
/
too soft to fall
it drifts with the birds
and watches them dive —
a feather in a plastic bag.
..
the bones, the stars:
i am a man of twigs
no, no, not a scarecrow.
a twig-man
a sixteen-rings-man.
/
the finest tune, am i not?
a spectacle of incineration
no, no, not a scarecrow
crows fucking scare me.
/
a twig-man.
a seat of ash, keeps them warm
the furnace wight
lights, camera, fire!
/
your colossal hydrogen bullet
"ich hab 'ne flammenwerfer!"
my armor is my eyes
iridescent decay in the dead of night
/
kindlings, blue and bright
where the wind drifts in reverse
and all the lights, popping —
a canopy alight. neurons.
..
turritopsis dohrnii:
the immortal droplet, immortal plastic bag
aren't you ever lonely?
you never break.
YOU ARE READING
cacophony
Poetrya trail of poetry drawn between inward glances because i gave up on shouting myself down. | voice one: 01-13 | voice two: 16-29 | voice three: 30-36 | voice four: 37-42 | p.s. the first few poems are really bad. ~ hymn ©2020
