flying, flying

it was the titmouse twittering

that defined my love of steel

my love of concrete. my love

of soundless steps and long echos

it was the scratch of wing across sorrow

where a sweat drenched face

whipped the walls, and loneliness

was the air beneath

the titmouse choked me

with the strong hands of hard music

until darkness engulfed me

my knees wrinkled in the confusion

of court martialed sanity - a glad teeter

on the edge of conviction

desperation became feathers

God, a cry for a knife

the dead titmouse cooled

on the blood whetted tongue of concrete