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Monthly Archives: March 2015

I came across a dying bluebird today
Bleeding out on the pavement
I should have helped him
But birds carry fleas and parasites

I can only guess what happened
To the dying, helpless bird
I should have been a better man

The grey pigeons laughed at the dying bluebird
“What is a bird with broken wings?”

Bluebird, I can hear you
Your apparition,  song of hope
There’s nothing more valuable
Than a bird with broken wings

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I am a reverie, an innocent daydream
You are a sick, intrusive thought
He is silver, maybe gold
She is dirt, nothing more

We may be an ugly splatter
And they; an elegant stroke
But we are a painting

And we are beautiful
At times