Dream of the Birds
       

Live needlers of
skulls and kneecaps
prick these human shapes,

incessant, they
invite their beaks
to horn in, to snap

pole-wires so voices
skip or pine, all
static gauze, replace

an ease, all gummous
plants endure the fowl
arrival. This

black crowd that makes
intent its arch-
itecture, by flock

instinct, it, flanking,
forms a silhouette.
However gutted,

however spent,
cawing a town in
fanatic wager,

as two green lovebirds
sway—asynchronous
set, not accomplice,

not alighting—
what crude nature
routs this way? What

dim desire coils
here, unravels us
with beckoning?

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Copyright © 2012 Debora Kuan All rights reserved
from Xing
saturnalia books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission