Migrate

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“Sleep and death are brothers, brother.”
“Brothers, but estranged.”
“All are strange.”
“Then all should change.”
He chuckles. “You know
All never change.”

Chucked the fifth of bourbon,
heard shards clang their separate ways.
A streetlamp damped the sewer grate orange.

“Once he’s buried,
I take off. I’ll escape.”
“No man can escape.”
He stood. “I can.”
“Can, man?”
“I will. I will.”

5 AM. He sat. Stared at
a dented can of noodles
worms now filled and swilled.

“What will you do? Change
into tights and cape? fly away until
you’re someone new?” “I’ll escape.”
“You should’ve been a pair of ragged wings
flapping across silent skies.”
“I’ll escape. Hear me. I will.”

He could hear a mockingbird harp
to the hole it was over. Half
the worms festered in the grave pit,
sucking dinner. He stood, walked.
“Swan songs should be sweeter.”
“Brothers should be better.”





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