suicide sunrise

 

as I light my first morning

cigarette,

 

a haggard blue jay,

holds his breath,

closes his eyes,

and dives face-first

into my glowing blurple

bug-zapper.

 

I’ll never condone

the act,

but,

I, often,

understand

the feeling.

 

(like when I have to clean

up deep fried f*****g

feathers and charred bones

instead of watching

the sunrise)

Reviews

[Kenneth The Poet]

Funny coincidence: a friend of mine went to a golf tournament and on the way, he saw a red hawk get tangled in a power line. I think it explains why my clock was flashing 12:00am that day.

[Brad]

that second stanza had my gevalia all over my keyboard!!

[Robin]

man , could we swap some stories ... that living thing does that , stories

[Tim Lion]

you should've had him with sawmill gravy...
breakfast of champions.
sick b*****d.
love it.

write more often like this,
it brings out your eyes.

Cheers!

[MuSe Ampoule]

LOL...birdy suicide...awww! He could have at least waited until your cig was done...how inconsiderate.

dark humor...yes, you have it.

[Kerry O'Connor]

What a way to view the self-defeat of a senseless new sunrise...

[John Patrick Robbins AK..]

The way you write my friend cuts through the bs like a razor love the feel to this one great sense of humor with a hell of a bite to it hell of a title as well stay crazy Gonzo

[Pretty Faces Split Open]

Haha, yes. The interesting question that came to my mind when reading this poem is who would clean up your feathers?