Duplex with Birds Shattering Perfectly
Insect violence peppers the lane.
Squirrels teethe on telephone wires.
Squirrels teethe on telephone wires.
Squirrels tease me from the telephone wires.
I’m trying to pretend they don’t exist.
I’m trying to recall something about existence,
its damp, terrestrial scent, its winglessness.
It’s damp down here. Wingless
angels scratch their perfect language into glass.
Glass craves perfection, then shatters
like grackles flitting on the bastard wind.
I’ve been chewed on by the bastard winds,
massacred and feathered. All I did was ask.
The jaws of massacres spit feathers. Just ask
the devils making music in the lane.
Christopher McCormick currently attending the MFA In Creative Writing program at Bowling Green State University where he works as an associate editor for the Mid-American Review and teaches creative writing and English. His work has appeared or is upcoming in Anti-Heroin Chic, The Shore, West Trade Review and Thin Air Magazine among others.
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