The Nightbird
It is absurd in a dubious kind of way,
the need to fit in with simulated norms.
I don’t care anymore if the jukebox plays
a re-mix of this fucked up excuse for a life.
The nightbird does not bend beneath such sorrow,
soaring high above the smoke-filled bordellos,
She knows no fear of being crushed beneath
the one-eyed monster’s armadillo-skinned boot.
I lay here all but empty – shamefully waiting
for the scent of homemade soap, and
the primal thrust of a hot starched pistol,
Though I’ve not a pound of flesh left to give.
I’m swept high upon a ribbon that swirls
in the turbulent eddies she leaves behind,
Catching glimpses of freedom in the pull of her wake.
Below my battered shell awaits, unsure if I’ll return.
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OMG that closing stanza KILLS!!!
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A very nice post
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I love the closing as well. Welcome to the Word List! I almost missed this. If you link late, please leave a comment, that way I’ll know your link is there. I rarely check old Lists once the new one goes up every Friday afternoon. I hope to see you there again!
–Shay
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It all good Shay, I thought I was on time, it wasn’t until a went back a couple of day later to see if anyone else had added new posts that I realized that I’d be interested been late to the party.
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The feeling of non-chalance is certainly felt in this poem
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