Innocent Birds

It was so

like hamlet

the way I spun and darted

and

had she not been

so mad I would not have

wielded the pointed

edge of a sword

to her neck

against the cries of the wind

and the chorus of innocent birds

who take up residence in the cool pools

of tears,

and:

one year later,

as my comrades lie sleeping

on the tables in the tavern,

soaking in their

sweat and wine

I thought suddenly

of her.

and the wooden doors burst open

running past the streets

which are covered in her locks

and hum the endless sound of her name

which no one

could distinguish

from mine

and whose crime

was kept horribly

still.

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry

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Internal Dialogue

After “The Pillow Book”

1.

I’m lost in a transient sort of state

utterly lost  and abandoned,

I mean who was this girl–

this thing–

I’ve become?

 

2.

REGRET

on a  dry, razor- perfect cut lawn,

her red lips are stained with a sort of

forced forgetfulness.

the magenta furls of summer,

like kites or long twirling dresses.

White alabaster carvings in her mind

of a boy she almost left behind,

like a patch of cool shade in the late afternoon,

making her swoon.

 

 

3.

THE DREAM

The wooden chime sings in the air, as

we take a moment to find ourselves once again.

We will sing, like two small flutes,

like proud-breasted birds,

on miniature twigs,

as the wind rides on the current like a dancer on the water,

flickering in

and out

of everything,  as if she were a

skater without skates.

she flies once again through the night

without any means of suspension

not by firelight,or torchlight, or by the sound of her breath,

but by the only sense that she has

which is senseless.

 

4.

I’m lost in a transient sort of state

utterly lost  and abandoned,

I mean who was this girl–

this thing–

I’ve become?

 

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry

Photography Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry