A birdman never forgets, and although it has been some time since the last post, he's back to give you a taste of the night wicked and cracked and spines and girls in oyster shops cracking up with hot sauce (inspired!). Taste the night with my feathered, superhero friend. Part VII:
he was ready to return home. the birdman
plummeted as the stones
of our fathers’ across old fields we never knew.
he crossed paths with a villain
the man sneered. the birdman cracked him upon the back of the head.
city times, believe in love
of the old order of sewer grates
and coffee shop hymnals, crush the pomegranate stand
on the corner of 8th and 8th,
particles of brick, hot industrial glue, a horse
shoe imprint upon cobblestone,
wicked waterways, the dust of the saloon man without
his gold watch,
dust in the tenement building,
old men and women in ivory bathtubs near telephone
the villain stumbled and faltered and fell. the birdman,
aloof for freedom,
continued his noble way.