bird

I had thought about deleting
ancient words
and rosy memoires
of illusions cloaked in velvet masks
allusions left to guess
delusions meant to dress

confusions to confess

the thickened mold
of innocence lost
crawling through our dreams
leaving no cushion
nor space to invest
on soft laments
nor feeble tears
nor nostalgic yearns
nor time to question

its hardened case
the graveyard of hopes
that lets everything be
its inexplicable self

and all the women gather
and huddle their hearts
nodding the heads
pointing the fingers
their eyes enlarged with vile stories
the coffee thick between the lips
the eyebrows exasperated
by the men that huddle around
their hungry looks so easy to compare
their cliche lines that cry worn out
by the rusted paths they've walked
and the aimless circles they've talked

we'll nod our heads
and let things be
for the heart certainly does cure
at wonderful speeds
the repeated falls
making stronger knees
the only terror remaining
in the bird between the legs
its freedom flight
a dangerous journey
the chance of death
a taunting idea
that marks the body with regret
a once sacred site
now carelessly tainted
by child play's mistake
leading to the dingy road
from which we may not ever awake.