I open the window of my bedroom,
the one immediately beside my pillow,
to the everything I hate and
let the everything cascade unfiltered,
like the songs of morning birds
that I curse with each repetitive
melody and chirp and melody and chirp
and annoying beauty forced upon me,
the relentless disrespect of personal space
by creatures who think themselves
a bit better than me, higher in the trees,
deliberately disturbing my half of sleep,
thinking that this world is for everybody.
I wish to find them, to
collect them all and embrace them,
their tiny fragile bird bodies with
their tiny fragile bird bones and
I would hold them near their breast
and with a lovingly firm squeeze
around their precious bird necks
I would inflate their precious bird heads
until they choke on the silence
of their gaping bird beaks
and each head goes POP!
and I would do this for every
bird who wishes to sing to me
these stupid songs
every day at 5AM.
