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Posts Tagged ‘dead birds’

Pockets of Poison

When the first bird fell at my feet from the sky I didn’t think anything of it. Not at first. At first I just thought, “Whoa.” I looked down and saw it was a winged creature. Didn’t know what sort. I tapped it lightly with my foot and inertia rolled it over. It was clear it was stone dead. I made a move to bend down and then it started raining.

More birds.

It was a sight, I’ll tell you. To say it was ethereal would be spot on except for the fact that there was a nagging reality to it. I wanted to laugh out loud. Felt it in my gut. But the drizzle became a downpour and instinctly, I ran for cover in a nearby kiosk.

What happened was in all the papers. (Not that anyone reads the papers anymore.) And not just locally either. The bizarre event made Headlines with a capital H. Nationwide. Reporters swarmed on our little town like… well like this particular species of bird used to. Twice a year they flock through here on their way to either a better place or a worse one, depending on the season. They were late this year, about a month. But no one reports on that. Nor do they ask me what I think. Not that I’m anybody but I was there when the first bird fell. I did feel the energy in the air. And I can tell you what it was if you want to hear.

I call ’em pockets of poison. They’re rare but they’re there. Think of them as our small town’s bad thoughts, all of us, mashed up and floating overhead. Consider your own fears and poisons, now your family’s, now your friends. Consider a town. All dealing with whatever badness individually. Separate as the whole. Yes, some will talk out their feelings and try to reach a certain understanding. A place where they feel at least comfortable with their shit. Talking helps. Sometimes it works. But those folk are a small percentage. You know as well as I that we all let it stew. And boil. And bubble. And explode. Well, sometimes it explodes in the face of our loved ones. Other times it explodes in our hearts and we die. But on the rarest of occasions, we let loose without knowing it. The hell of us escapes us and festers in the air. I’m here to tell you that I’ve seen it. I’ve been wandering for ages and I have seen it. Never quite so much as here.

This… gas. This vile gas that this town emits, it goes upward. And I swear I heard the explosion just moments before that first black fowl fuck stopped me in my tracks. It is a low sound, like a calf choking quick. Like my own woes growing sick inside me. Like painted wrong love on my heart. It’s a pathetic whisper in a black robe. Burp.

This is why the sky falls.
This is why the sky falls.
This is why the sky falls.
Not with a tweet, but with a flutter.

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