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hollow bones for an open sky.
in my bones
knocked a carmine-crested cardinal.
my ribcage a latched
cage for
the songbird.
he's a chambermaid
for my hollow head,
tucking the corners
and dusting the creaky windowsill
in a plaid waistcoat.
he didn't expect
turbulence, with
suitcase and DNR
in arm, yet he wiped his
drooping eyes and flew.
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this was vaguely inspired by the wonderful novel "i know why the caged bird sings" by Maya Angelou.
- p.e.r