If Birds Were Birders

eclecticismgunfight

The blinds drawn in tight,

keeps the dead at bay, for

when I can’t stand any

longer, for the fire risen

like text in a book, append

to me, the great and godly

candle, sunken and bereft,

let the light effuse and bend,

let no man enter or call,

the shower is hot, and no

one dare unlock the door,

it’s that time, in the night,

when each step into the

hallway, is a half-step too

slow, and the passing

wind, but a hand to grasp

you, saddled with fear,

your next step a hop,

and your warm bed has

never saved you before;

zombies of preclusion,

hidden by castes and paints,

step into the lighted pines,

and kiss each fellow with

azure lips, flow like water,

whisper to the dead, each

moment in your life, but a

past of regrets, stand tall

in your house, anywhere you

go, and…

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