a smell reminiscent of piss between tree's in the Don,
the nurse is home.
wet from the lackluster anticipation to summer.
it's pouring.
craving banality,
a sedative.
tending to the parrot as patient.
REPEAT STEPS CAREFULLY.
REPEAT.
lacking narrative in his manual
a needle end polished, too dull to puncture.
still, the nurse drives it deep
stake to the heart.
still, the parrot squawks
reminiscent, of a man learning how to fall.
"Don't cross your fingers. Sundays will never change. They keep on coming. You'll be a freak And I'll keep you company"
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