i’d like to befriend a condor with eyes so sharp and beak so long it can hunt you down; even if you’re inside a locked coffin in a dark cave, down deep in the sea,
hiding from me.
my darling, my sweet darling,
the sun is pretty, isn’t it?
even when there isn’t one,
in your life.
she disappeared to a park and found a match
she lighted it and looked at it for a good twenty-eight seconds,
“it was a pleasure to burn, wasn’t it”?
popping into her head
a line from a book she couldn’t remember
before she burned her body to ashes.
she was out of love and on the eighth day that bird is still there humming a tune not meant for her and she’s running and crying and shouting and screaming to no avail
she was out of love a week ago
and that bird still there
still singing a tune
not for her
so she cut her ears.