There is a strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street along my walk to the bus that seems to collect dead birds. I’m not sure why, but I’ve seen at least three whole birds and countless feathers, as well as one mouse with a spot of blood. I would assume it’s a predator, except for the tranquil folded pose of most of the bodies. I suspect the wires. The patch is right outside a nursing home that I think is faith-based, perhaps Protestant. There’s something about finding dead birds outside a nursing home that’s almost too sad. I found a wing this morning.
I’m working on a new piece that plays with timelines and melds various people into one second person voice. And includes the comet ISON. I’m not sure that it works, but it’s nice to have a piece fighting me back. In the end I suspect it’s too romantic. I am, after all, trying to stop writing love poems, even if they are addressed to amalgams of the men I (have) love(d). If it ends up any good, I might throw it up here.