my brilliant totem
he who selected me and I him
living the way I do now
it’s he who sends back my words
of self-reflection
or is it just pointed running commentary?
I repeat and he does too
all the annoying thoughts chirping
the brutal revelations of self
complete with spines and toxic tips
I am throwing darts in the air
and he is perched to send them back
this has its plus and minuses
don’t I know? doesn’t he?
occasionally there is wisdom there
if you read between the … (insert cliche)
I want desperately to draw a line
stilI I seem to cling to the dark notes
I am staring at the family laundry.
In a line, I make a list
those are all my clothes, on the line, just mine
Mocking me?
the bird and the clothes?
after having vented my regrets
I follow his lead. I quiet myself
I jump up and twirl around, like he does
I land back on my feet like he does
to have another go at it
I sprout wings and I am a bird, like he is
but without a trace of the mocking
