the birds

this neck of mine, it
keeps on snapping back
and i keep looking up, obliging
white mist and crystalline
feathered fears, feelings

lately the sky has been descending
so that if i stand up on that cliff
i can feel the world thin
light looks so plain out here, but
it makes me ache

these wings keep pulling me down.
believe me when i say
if i knew how to say it, i would
i would.
something in the air sounds like
new, old, deathly silent songs
stairwells at the bottom of nowhere
this silly marionette has
lost its strings, crumpled

but only for a moment.
now isn't that weird?
this neck, it's mine.