When I can’t think of what to say,
I will put my lonely where my mouth is,
a buckshot matryoshka always killing myself
and shredding the old skin for something new,
always molding my gray-clay brain
into the easiest target. I’ve been breathing long enough
to know that breathing isn’t enough and because of that
I’m always breathing too quickly, quiet and bright
in my two tiny clots of lung. I’ve been surviving long enough
to know that surviving isn’t enough
so now I’m giving living a try, an unkilned brick of being,
aiming for the window where the gray birds sit reflected
balancing on electric wire, grinning.
“pigeon brain” is a poem I wrote in 2018. It was published in local nomad, which you can read online.