This island lapses for a moment, listen
Cool the air out of your clavicles, fishmonger
We’ll eat chips in the harbour tonight
Bring me seashells or smash oysters in your teeth
I can’t tell you about the bird in the black canal
with its slippers caught in tantacles of steel wire
or about the time your eyes moved past me
Little hooks, let me pierce the film of vitreous fluid
Touch the inner vane, make it shiver
Listen, surely you’re not hoping this canal
This seam, this line, this entire time,
Will bring back the body and the feathers
Well, I can’t put your face away now
The bird doesn’t need me, but I reach in anyway
I pull out a branch like a sword unsheathed
But it slips like mildew from my shores
This bird doesn’t need its angel anymore
Social Paranoiac 