Day 16

From The Book of Cracked Mirrors: insufficient

The sounds of the mockingbird are are
are home and more than its hinges, although
though though the mockingbird makes
the noise of scratchy hinges. The sounds
of the mockingbird are home are harsh
harsh harsh. Its song is lush. Is lush. Its song
is lush. Mockingbird decibel is wood chipper 
Mockingbird decibel is chainsaw wood chipper 
Mockingbird decibel is pretty pretty pretty
chainsaw wood chipper sitting on your head.
Sweet. So sweet. So sweet its voice. It tries to 
reshape the human throat. I want to sing.
The mockingbird borrows, yes. And returns:
Embroidered with threads of remembered hymns. 
Home. Hymns. The mockingbird says more.
There is more. There is more than you. More
than you can imagine. I could live
without the mockingbird. I could live
without and seem to thrive.

---

Quickly + NaPoWriMo (sorta)