Paper Bird

Who is better left
by the roadside?

The roadside being
the point in life where

darkness becomes darker
than distance, more violent

than birth which severes
the lung from its heart,

ripping the mind from
its platform. And so one

lies quietly by the roadside
like a miniature god, a broken

cloud, a paper bird.
Becomes the paper bird

whose scissors cut off
its head, punch holes in

its fragile chest and shreds
its lovely, scalloped, wings.

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