Radagast of the Sprawl

Found a dead bird, not in a while. Each day is blurred, I swore that you smiled the first time I showed you the stiff flimsy wings, still poised on the brink of unspeakable things that now can’t be conveyed from the ground where they’ve stayed since the last clean up crew came through on Thursday. I am scared of windows, too – mistaking reflections for the limitless blue of a fresh vernal sky that exists to play host to all small winged things – birds, planes, and ghosts. Hummers and sparrows smash plate glass like arrows, collect on the ground. depart in wheel barrows but not before posing for one cell phone snap before vinyl silence in large black trash bags.

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~ by perfectionatrix on February 15, 2010.

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