went unpublished.
It returned in a SASE
I chose to be grey
for I knew its return
in a day overcast like this
would seem just like
any other cloud.
Clouds justifying rejection
for being altogether cloudy.
While resending it
I pasted, not a fork,
but bird feet,
to an envelope painted
with feathers in fire,
hoping it would reach
shortly before evening.
In case it didn't
I kept a transparent SASE
one could hold it
up against a sky,
and see clouds in it, dead arms,
teething missiles headed to locations.
Clouds bleeding along
their scratch marks
from bird feet.
1 comment:
your diaspora of words and thoughts are migratory; they are homeless, they are unsung. and you sing them well.
Post a Comment