The birds start singing around three,
once the coffee has unsweetened
from four spoons of sugar to two
and leftover Indian food has been
devoured and my contacts start to
tighten around my corneas. This
paper on ideological death of the
author has thoroughly kicked my
***, wrung the sass right out of
my tongue. All I can do is sit and
listen to the birdsong and wonder
what is so important that it must
be said at 3AM and is it really a
song and does it even matter if I
will never speak bird? They might
as well be speaking Chinese or
waves seizing the shore or you
and I locking eyes for hair split
moments. What did you mean to
say and does it even matter if I
have forgotten, if I ever even knew
how to speak your language?