The way the bird mocks you is

always disturbing, like how watching the

mother die.

How waiting for the clock to turn

even though it is broken,

I’ve seen the soul, how it burns

away in people faster than a freeway

car crash.


It happens while you watch the bird from the tree

outside mock you.

It mocks you as well with silence,

The bird mocks us while struggling to

build our dreams,

losing all the money,

eating for the last time.

The people think “what does it mean?”

it never and will mean anything.

there was a time when the bird mocked you

from high up in the tree,

you tried to fight back,

you fought with your words and your body,

but still were beaten.

The bird that mocks us wins again.

The bird is not a hero,

maybe it tries to be a beaten up crow,

but he’s too strong to live past that.

It won’t age like wine,

and it will always love to

mock the lower dead

birds.