Held in the grip by used
cellophane,......sing it's coat
burning reflections, behind
eyelid stuck shut.
The avenue where trees drink
in black bile, rich----with dwarf
willow who throws her embrace
around the dense strands
of old man's beard covered
with thick yellow lichen.
It hangs free like morbid
hammocks whose anchors has
rotted away.
Languid oxalic acid talc,
pits holes in this heavy-metal
collar around her neck
chains dangle like galling
wind chimes she can't stand
The sound picked up, by
straying wingless feathers
one more day, at the bottom
of a bird cage.
Its doors left open, bars
bent into familiar shapes
of escape yet nightengale
sits perched, on her thorny
branch.
Pale wind blows the cage,
onto damp concreate, shaded
in picture seque fairness
Black moldy images keep
her occupied-------immovable
within the void she loves.
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