Wednesday, July 25, 2012


The Lacrimation of Pigeons

The pigeons who flutter every
Morning on the fire escape
Act as if they know nothing
About sculpture and form
Pretend to be interested in
Only preening and pecking
Yet, they coo the secrets
To finding your way home
Which is never straight as the
Crow flies, or the wobbly linear
Descent of drops of wasted lacrimation