Blackbirds

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Poppy seed days fly by
still lodged in my teeth.
The edge of the cup
chocolate muck
slinks slowly down
my heated throat.

In one ear and out the other
some kid’s words don’t
put the matter to the machine,
the man behind the clockwork
of modern day men-and-women.

The shut off the cut off
it’s a flow that stops
and doesn’t bother to drain out.
Everything lies placid
under the milky rain,
acid staining provoking shins.

Sticky summer represses my lungs
heavy breaths upset the still
blackbirds humming in the tree.
The branches are weary of
carrying their songs.





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