Birds twitter in my ear,
my begging palm opens
expecting metaphors to flutter
down like fire flies, settle softly
on my life line.
From here I can see the river Delta,
a dark green tarpaulin stretched over
the hemisphere. It’s murky waves
reflect on fleeting clouds.
Suspended here in the boredom of life,
sinking in ruins of past lovers with out
consolation to soothe them,
what’s left of words is refuse,
A cache of cliche, the bitter rind of orange
gnawed and tossed away.
Where is my simile of stars?
A metaphor of sea oats,
the delicate wings of melodramatic
birds caged in my throat?
Imprisoned beneath footprints,
the crumbling leaves of winter