Burning Home
Light licks straws sewn, flames flick time: bird's nest on fire! Fever flight, sweaty kite, birds in wind's hands, stringing through a smoker's sky. Home on fire: nest of twigs, slow burning cigarettes... Nature's nest left nature's mess. Casual lips the curtains of nicotine teeth. He walks away, as feathered bodies scream into the sky, where now, where now, and for now there is only up and up.
Young Society
Her breasts are sleeping birds, curled in a soft blanket of skin. Bra nest strings drape her shoulders. Covered in cloth. Taught to hide. But all trees can't be tamed. Some branches grow to despite all the order in the world. And grow, I tell them, grow.
