do the trees feel it?
are their boughs heavy  

with the change
and weight of it?

are the clouds concerned?
the ever pressure

of always building
of always seeking release?

do the wings worry about it?
the lean and pull

into onto
the wind?

despite all the responsibility
in

and of
this world

is there anything
anything at all

that is not
possible?

The air is cold and
he is having a hard time to breath
again,
his throat swollen and a salt
taste lingering behind.

a swallow crosses the air and outpaces
his life.
laughter is sounding from out of their nests
that ever move to
warmer places.

so he unbuttons his shirt and
flies along.

lately all I get
are broken backs
and droopy eyes.

cracked ribs
and split lips.

gurgling breaths
and hollow cheeks.

a bright flame burning
but buried
too deep.

the only reason that you
still love me,
is because you think that he
is still in there somewhere,
hidden deep.

you believe that he's still inside me,
banished and neglected,
in a dark corner,
windowless.

he won't escape, he doesn't remember how to.

scattered, lonely and forgotten,
he kneels down in the slums.

but he is still there.
voiceless, but
    I swear
you heard him

just now.

it's eleven in the evening
and I put on a CD with bird sounds on it.

nothing else
just mechanical sounding
tsjirps and songs.

I am happy
   with my birds
   with my loneliness.

cracks in my knuckles,
notches in my palms,

I fantasize that
you braid my hair and
us lying
       curled around eachother
on my bed.
you
       breathing soflty
inside my arms
as we look
       through the roof's window
at the night,
       crashing gently.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the ****** and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to ***** up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?