BIRDS

Four in the morning, again

gripped in stomach drop, again

Haunted by barroom apparitions

the despair of the discarded

The waking call of the four am birds

they begin their day oblivious to it all

As melancholy to the homeward bound

at to the fool jerked from slumber

Breath is hot, chest is tight

Barroom laughter, sour air visions

Let the birds gently usher in the blue

for theirs is not a cry but a song