In the Symbols of the Symbols (In the Loss of our Loss)

It was as if the absence

of birds in our poems

was the absence of

flight in the world,

but there were always crows,

of the same fraternal feather.

Can you hear them now,

as we stand here

melting?

Like a pine needle ax in a tabloid forest:

Our minds contorting into symbols

language couldn't behold,

our synchronies too slippery

for others to stand on--

As if the absence

of birds in our poems

was the absence of

music in the world.

Whilst we were just mowing

the overgrown ferns

of the backyards of our minds,

manufacturing malignant witch's brews

and engrossing ourselves

in the symbols

of the symbols we'd built

for one another,

engrossing ourselves

in the loss

of our loss--

Like an eraser thrown against rubber wind,

like an infant getting weened

from dirty breast-milk:

We forfeited our idols,

and finally looked within,

as if the absence of

birds in our poems

was the absence

of color in the world,

and that was why

we only

had crows,

and we ourselves

were only

like crows,

of the same fraternal feather,

but not of the same

maternal endeavors.

We grinned in  a black and white silence,

realizing 

the mind could fly,

the mind could sing,

the mind could paint,

therefore 

realizing

that the heart

could never

be absent

of birds.

Can you FEAR

them now,

as we 

stand here

melting?

Can you

FEAR

them?

Author's Note

unfinished

Reviews

[nathan]

Wow! Now that ws a powerful beginning.
And indeed you are into psychology