There is a bird on my shoulder, and I am afraid of birds.
If you’re afraid of the message, really truly afraid of the message
you see the messenger in every single face in the crowd.
The feathers rustle and she tells me to fly like she does, but I am afraid of falling.
The olive branch fell off the tree and a child picked it up and pretended it was a gun.
He shot his brother dead and plucked out the splinter in his finger.
The beak is cold and sharp and she tells me to sing like she does, but I am afraid that if I open my mouth someone will snatch my breath away.
From several yards away, a warning call can sound like a song of spring.
A scream of passion can sound just like a scream of fear if you’re just far enough away and there’s just the right number of noises in the city.
Her talons are in my shoulder, and I cry and I cry and I cry.
There is a bird on my shoulder, and I am afraid of birds.