Starlings with Podcast


The weather is repeating the daily 

script of rain until you're bored 

of watching it lash against the bus 

window every time you go to work. 

Becoming monastic with your coat

and losing yourself permanently 

to the podcast's discussion of S¿ren Solk¾r's shots of starlings mirroring soundwaves and dunes is the best 

way to disrupt monotony. One, it could 

be argued, looks almost like you 

on the bus - your body poised for flight, ready to be carried by the shape-shifting flock away from the predictable noise 

into the peppery dark, knife-like currents. 


All my harvests came to nothing 


A stalactite of ladybugs

in the window frame - 

product of a harsh spring. 


Easy come, easy go. 


The copper coloured sky

flips like a coin daily: snowfall 

Monday, heavy rain Tuesday. 


Take nothing for granted 

my mother said. 


Last night I dreamt 

I saw cairns of dead mice

in the streets, followed 

by men dressed as cats

trying to chase their own tails. 


This must mean something 

I ask myself as the ATM frowns.




Plumbed into Xibalba's underworld, 

pity the ghost fish carrying the final 


messages in the braille of their scales 

from every sacrificed victim sinking 


like logs. Family members lure them out, 

urgently seeking advice on the best path 


to please the gods and achieve salvation, 

rare and beautiful like jade. The ghost fish 


will never know the 13 heavens, remaining in the water for countless 


generations like echoes permanently echoing each other. 


© David Angelo