Thursday, August 20, 2009

Magpie Poem

magpie, they call me in the morning
catching and keeping as more than catch can
building a nest for no one in particular
and when they pass they ask
“who ya craftin that fine looking basket fo’”
that’s what they say
and I say
“fo my damn self, now move on toothless grin man”
sweat pouring while I’m building and tacking and painting and nailing nailing nailing
MY muthafuckin sweat
ya no count bum
in my head and out loud
but I don’t mean it
when I say it out loud
but really
I am building a house for me and no one in particular
I steal the pages books for warmth because the house is made just of spit
mine for sure
the fluids are rich and mostly my own
dripping like ichor down my chin and into my very own nest
hardening until it looks like something
and I’d like to see you try to unstuck it from the place I got it fixed in
just try to pry off what I done
ya been gone so long
and now have come to pull loose what I done
in the name of something bigger
a nest that hangs like a placenta over water
made of things I passed while flying over
and I will never eat quick when I share with friends
because I will know that there will be enough
I paid for my abundance in spit, and sweat and other sturdy waters and potions that I’ve been oozing by my lonesome
and you just jealous cuz you couldn’t quell the flow,
Ms. No One In Particular
I have sacrificed the 7 years of bad luck to get my place pimped out with flecks of mirror
and in the cracking and tearing of unintentionally filleted copper flesh
added my own blood to the mortor that keeps my home standing
if unhappy
fixed and reliable
if sagging

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