The Birds of Death
Hearing his voice, a pleasant haunting
Published in
1 min readNov 30, 2022
Staring up at the vultures I am dumb with boredom
Pleading with them to return him to life
His voice is a cawing
a clawing inside my skull
My name comes from his
These days the words stretch out
Upon the loom as a scarf
Unfurls down my chest
Winter’s here again
The vultures arrive in thick flocks
Through my mind on repeat
The whirring concurring with my pain
What can be worse than losing love?
He’s gone.
The birds in my head leave me numb
Their ever-fluttering matches the inner chaos
Left by his passing
Why all this talk of birds in skulls? It’s death
That falls and falls and falls
Unlike leaves, unlike pine needles
Not feathers
Entire wings
Intact
Fresh from flight
These are the dreams
That haunt (delight) me at night
