Sparrows burst from my head
like a broken breeze
an explosion of feathers
black and blonde,
and I can't hold your memory
as much as I'd like.

My churning gut,
full of sour milk,
running like a river,
full of playing children,
and chemicals.

And like the pointless energy
of these words,
my fists crack pointlessly
against the depth
of a black-water ocean,
filled with you.

I won't even speak to you today,
I know it.

And I want it to be your fault,
but I feel it's mine.