Body Birds

Our glossy body birds shuffle

on a seawall suffering an angry god

who pisses open the sky

time will turn us into madwomen

with old, sloppy bodies but wings

for all that’s left

we’ve spurned our anatomy, forgot our own flight

to peck lazily at pools of salty god-piss

to feed at the hands of divided men. Look up, sisters, from

the piss filled crack in this concrete dump

War is the feeder that sways from our branches

time will turn us into madwomen

with old, sloppy bodies but wings

for all that’s left

I dreamt up an ocean angrier

than us. Angrier than you – imagine that.

It crashes mightily over me every night

how can it be we are still tinsel trees decked

in totems all day until the angry night slaps me

down so deep our dowry of totems bob furiously above

and madness is a sanity many miles wide,

and quiet,

too

time will turn us into madwomen

with old, sloppy bodies but wings

for all that’s left

time is

only an option

to go crazier, higher

above the trees, deeper,

wilder into the water.