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