Urvogel

By Jonathan Taylor Davies

You are wrong
and attractive,
borne high on
frankenstein wings,
decaying black feathers
bound roughly together
in spirals of frayed string;
you are a tempest,
and I love you.

if birds still had teeth
they would be your teeth,
birds used to have teeth
and they resemble yours,
your teeth are as those
of winged jurrasic demon birds,
you archaeopteryx!
you demon!
you bird!
you have jurassic teeth,
and they are old
and hungry
and sharp,
o’ wing’ed one!
you dragon!
o’ hungerer!
you keep your teeth on your hands,
an interesting choice,
and your hand-teeth claw at me
like claws,
and I am scratched,
but your hand-teeth are as nothing
to your mouth-fingers;
your slimy writhing mouth-fingers
besiege me,
I!
a humbled man!
am besieged,
I beseech you to cease your
tentacling and embrace me
you gorgeous bird,
you oriole,
sexy sparrow,
be-plume’d
with vibrant blue and gold
and red and blue,
your royal blood like an ink stain
on my pages,
you are a sparrow
of at least twenty
shades of brown
each more resplendent
than the last
your tentacles forgotten
I want to feed you bread
small bread
tiny bread
crumbs of it
a single crumb of bread
smuggled past your mouth fingers
and hand teeth
will that placate you,
hungry bird?
will my modest gift of
most modest bread
satiate your devouring
fury?
for I am scratched and
tired
and wish to carry you
gently in my palm to
the window
where I will free you.

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