I GUESS I GET TIRED
Here, where the treetops sing, wires on wires,
dangling from poles, and the broad sky wide-eyes
its place, I get tired of hearing about the successes of
others. I am a carrion. I only wish to pick the bones of
the failed and the dead. Tell me nothing more, please.
Though I am happy for your placement and your
success, I really wait for no more of that at all. In fact,
please, just disappear from our my bead-trimmed
window; your information is cluttering up my
space, and I guess I just get tired.