Did you know that birds scream? I hear them sometimes, when the night train plays out a symphony on melted sand. The sound comes scratching, scraping, catching in bewildered rhythms. Snap. Cut. Slice.
I see now that they draw their torture in screwed up blueprints, and I let the music of that rest easy in my mind. Is this the homecoming that seduces inside my chest? Strange that I feel safer here than I have ever felt.
I’ve wandered too long in dead auction houses. Too many bidders. Too many defeats. Too many white flags. Ideas are dead. Books are dead. The zombies are already here. Words stream live into a billion minds. And on nights like this the birds scream so loud, that they make no sound at all.
© 2017 jac forsyth
Wow.
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Awed (once again) by thoughts of what kind of process enables you to come up with such grim and immersively glorious prose, mate.
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“I see now that they draw their torture in screwed up blueprints” That set the whole poem for me, I love that…perfect. And everything was caught within that.
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💕 Thanks Sarah, lovin’ the wow.
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Haha, thanks Steve. Who the hell knows where any of this creative stuff comes from 👊
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I find my dreams and nightmares provide the most bizarre inspiration
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Yes! It’s the most important line, everything spirals out from there. Love your poetic heart 💕
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Me too! I used to be scared of bad dreams, now I can’t wait to write them down ☠
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Resting in it 🙂
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Me too.
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You are truth, Jac.
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Of course!
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I don’t know how you do it but I’m really glad that you do.
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Love ya, babe 💕
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Wow, that’s just the sweetest thing to say, thanks mate 🎈
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Love ya back, my friend ❤
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Just so gripping, awe-struck!
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Dang, thank you so much, Moushmi!
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Reblogged this on wee ditty and commented:
doves may coo and cry, the mockingbird may sing, but sometimes birds do scream
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Dang, thank you so much for reblogging. I’m immeasurably flattered.
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just real solid good writing mate
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