Monday, November 17, 2008


I want to speak to the bird on my shoulder but he flies away whenever he gets us into trouble ... and otherwise I just take him for granted his presence and his advice ... I want to speak to him to get to know just who the hell he thought he was and who in fact he is ... his surety never shaken by his failures of good sense ... his certitude as heavy with good judgment as his flight away betimes ... I want to speak to him to get mine back again ... but of course he isn't there ... and when he returns I'll assume so much his presence I won't be able to see him to talk to or to think about ... but I'll still be wanting to ... to ask him what could he have been thinking to let me slide so far into perdition so far at times into a free fall ... but each time with his song of free flight in my ear ... singing singing far away on high as I continued to fall ... the whispers of his assurance as I rolled and wallowed in the muck tickled my mind in the midst and made me smile in the pit ... an empty smile opening on the abyss ... all the while in the shadow of his retreating wingspan my head and my hands I put up

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