Issue I – 2012
Don't Disturb the Dead Bird By Jeremiah Walton Don't disturb the dead bird Its dry cry goes unheard Poked at by sticks broken off a nearby rotted tree Near its body underneath the marquee With young knuckles wrapped around its imagined hilt Its body tossed like a rag doll embossed With cheap black tattered imitation leather The slick tick of time on rain pattered feathers A charred cheap treasure With cracked wings amongst other small things Pulled joints, and ligaments, tied with bodily strings It will never be buried, only spat at Small children squeak "look at that!" And run off giggling with their swords Pretending to be ladies and lords
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