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A Little Birdie

Take a drive along a lonely road,
A dull highway with only the husks
Of cars and rotting flesh inside.
If you can find a certain groove
In the road, a particular line, then
You will be able to drive perfectly
Straight without ever even grazing
The wreckage and the death. This
Is the only possible way of outrunning
The forces of the world, of astronomy,
Of catching the setting sun.

No one ever said this was the right
Way. No god said this was the
Direction for you. You discovered it
All on your own—with a little help
From the birdie in your head that
Bloodily bursts its wings out of your
Ears and flaps and chirps and flaps
And chirps and flaps and chirps.
All your own, your mind, and a little
Birdie. No birdie ever said it was
The right way. She only said to go
That way. No god said this was the
Direction for you. You discovered it.
All on your own, and a little birdie.

You will never catch the sun. Your
Eyes will burn in their sockets as
You try. Who am I to convince you of
This? For I am not your little birdie.
No, but I know. Your car will clip the
Jutting wheel of a burned-out truck.
Your car will flip seven times and
You will be ejected into the air, but
You will not land in the bed of flowers
In the woods. You will be impaled on
The shredded metal of a van, your
Last breathing moments spent staring
At the charred, skeletal remains of a
Once beautiful mother and four
Young girls. Shed no tears for their
Souls, hypocrite, for they have long
Forgotten you.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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