in this one you are by danny baker

a bird stopped chirping this morning
its wings long ago clipped
confused, flying into a clear window
wearing apt blinders
smelling salts briefly prolonged the fight

no questions remain, answers sail across
forebrain consciousness
ruptured sanity tests depth of the well
acid eviscerates sand castles
bile hardens to kindling for esophageal flame

granular substance, intangible in nature
seeps between cracks in mortar of oath broken
leaves a ring of a tan line, blood and trail of breadcrumbs, a journey of no end to what once laid beneath roses,
virile soil of construction never bested

much like that of the titanic, impenetrable
until penetrated
july, frigid today, as all days months and years
a phantom approaches 
what was- wilts, echoes of a perfect picture haunt 

dreaming, I feel a soft caress across my back
awakened to plummeting hailstones
cracking the roof

a single picture adorns the empty wall space 
I spoke with the cat, pampered, his unflinching eyes said “who?”
“never mind,” a picture just fell from its hook

and I heard the bird chirp again, 
bathing itself in a salty pool of misgivings
its blinders long since incinerated

Danny Baker ©  2012