sparrows and screws

screws the size of men,
most of them bigger.
symphonies, in the background,
and gravel.
the smell of sulfer,
burning cold like the blood red end
of a match
fills the nostrils
of soldiers marching
passed the chain links.
[or are they mirrored there?
are these fences bound together
like the bones of our
corpses killed and lying in
faceless boxes? they are
just
as indeterminate, exact replicas.]
violins in the barren bellies
of the warships send
tattered waltzes to the fishes
that lie in coral,
sleeping, beneath
rusted iron, and old cannon
fire, having long forgotten its gunpowder.
the space is now covered in seaweed.
on high, they sing hallelujah. in harmony
with the chords of flailing
bullet casings,
and always marching.
marching skyward!
those in planes, hovering over the land
like seabirds
waiting for the scent of
carrion to reach them
on the wind.
do they sing for revolution?
their words are lost in the
synapsis of their warheads,
falling toward the rising
breath
of some map torn mountain.


they're like mice with wings.
and curious eyes.
they come in waves. quickly. suddenly, like a rainstorm over the lake. but quiet!
and they're alive right now, but maybe they won't be tomorrow, maybe there will be a dog, too friendly, and young, too friendly and strong for its own good, and the dog will want to play, will take the sparrows between its teeth, like a tennis ball, but birds are not made of rubber, do not bounce. the dog will leave the sparrows on the sidewalk, damp, and limp, small balls of dead feathers.
but they are alive right now.


you.shall.know.our.velocity. [dave eggers]
ice cream for lunch.
seeing those i haven't in a while.
ruca!
butternut squash ravioli.


you're the reason why i burst and why i bloom