CJ P. PERADILLA
In phony fears, shackled and caged
Trichoglossus moluccanus
heart detached from the toil of hard
work. Now, poison starts traveling
from my earlobes, my frigid brain,
my deflated, hammered-down waste
of four chambers. Proclaiming law
the Rodents leer; serve the crumbs for just themselves. Don’t leave a trail,
cut off their tongues. The cheered system
tampered with. Melt my lungs slowly–
just leave the Fruits unharmed, scar-less.
The Staccato
a blackbird whispered in a blue, sing-song
voice — “it’s about time for you to rejoin
the stars.” Dried leaves start to unfurl, knowing,
seemingly hearing the but one-sided
negotiation. No, it was more a
howling sound than it was an innocent
whistle. The rock has withered but its strength remains
pronounced in humble silence; stock flowers
have woken up to speak odes in mauve light.
“Have a safe trip,” we sing. “You’re never forgot.”
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