Blackbirds Over the Ocean

I CAN SEE MYSELF NOW

TEARING AT THE ANGLES THE SHADOWS MAKE

ARE THEY REALLY INSANE OR DO THEY LAUGH AT ME

LIKE I USED TO LAUGH AT THEM; THE PITIFUL CHAINS TORN BARE

AGAINST THE SKYLIT HOTEL FLOOR

WHERE THE RIBBONS OF WORDS, RED, NAILED LIKE SPARROWS

TO THE WINTER, BLEED INTO THE RIVERS BETWEEN THE BATHROOM TILES

OVERFLOW

I CAN SEE MYSELF NOW

WRITING A LETTER TO BE FOUND SOME OTHER DAY

“WHO WRITES THIS?”

FROM THE CROWD OF MOTHS FOREVER BOUND TO THE BULB

THAT WE KEEP SWITCHING ON/OFF

A CRY OF HELP

THE HOTEL WINDOWS ELECTRIC WITH LIFE

AND A HEADLINE STITCHED

TO THE HEAD OF THE

FLOOR BED

“THIS SONG IS FOREVER SUNG” THE CROWD LEANS

WHO THE FUCK WRITES THIS?

WHO DOESN’T?

I CAN SEE MYSELF PUNISHABLE BY SIN

BY MEN IN CHAIRS AND WOMEN WHO BEAT THEM

WITH THE

EXTENSIONS OF THEIR VIOLENT PAST

CHILD

IN THE CROWD OF THE OLD, FOREVER BOUND TO BREAST

NEVER TRULY DYING UNTIL MOTHER DIES AND HER KISSES FINAL

I CAN SEE MYSELF NOW

UNTIDY LIKE HANDS ON SKIN

I CAN SEE MYSELF NOW

SUDDENLY ALIVE AND WATCHING

THE BLACKBIRDS OVER THE OCEAN; FAR OVER THE RAIN

LAUGHING

FOR THEY KNOW HOW IT WILL END; POISONING THE AIR WITH THEIR WINGS

I CAN SEE MYSELF

I CAN SEE MYSELF

NOW; HELD UP BY MACHINES THAT THREATEN TO GIVE

REASONS FOR MY

LIVING