new for bird poets.

In the same world as exists
million-tome birds,
also there’s sewn so many nests
skrilla.

shit.
there’s a chicken.

that’s my bird there
‘cause
when a chicken wear a boa

that's skrilla.

when you stitch a chicken in
a boot
and rub it
that's historic--
Welcome To
beautiful bright orange
food fuck

dribblin' my
presence all on
your rhymes.

i believe it was a drowning
Tippy Hedren
or maybe Rambo who
once wrote of
the zilch we feel
when we write.

you feel that?

that's just me, stitching
chicken upside
your head.
just me, cracking yo’
hollow bones with
crack tablets,
stealing your throne,
now i own yo’ ass

steep crack mountain pass

like i said before
like the stitch i sewn
you the itch that prone
to the birds
like a fucking gerund form
of the verb:
flying flow
owning

gon'.