nerves

lovely little birds from the north
pick up the messy lines of nerves
in the woods inside the skull
the thicker one is picked by a gull
and the thinner ones by crows
all but one of the warblers stayed and the room is stuffed full

crumpled nerves make a nest in the head
scratching
stretch
aching
squeezing
evacuating

the last warbler go with the robin into the woods
here they fly
heretheyfly

to the edge of sanity
to the border in front of melancholy

and they stopped
and they stopped

on the fragile branch of a tree
emptied wholly.

Written on 28 October 2014.

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Author: emmalhy

Poet | Modernist | Momentographer in search of lost time, and the little miraculous moments View all posts by emmalhy