You’d think flying would be the sort
of thing you’d never
want to stop, but then sitting here
on the parched porch
where the wood has greyed to splintering
and the pigeon shit
has piled at the base of each supporting beam
as the hours drag themselves along
I notice how rare the bald eagles and the red tailed hawks
(picking through their feathers in the upper limbs
of the cottonwoods or standing squint eyed on the electric poles)
will step out
and circle up the sky,
how they must put most of themselves
into idling on the branches.
2 responses so far ↓
1 worsty von hoan // Mar 28, 2008 at 11:10 pm
how do I post an original post?
2 mackenzie // Mar 29, 2008 at 12:57 pm
you can do so now if you click the little site admin link in the lower left corner and then click on write.
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