Plucking The Head From A Bird (10/09/95)

I'm where the walls and ceiling meet,
that corner, that pointed spot
the window under and to the left of
me pulls light across a couch and
rug. The light is stopped by smaller
things, a broken doll, a marble foot,
and as I'm swept along within this
wave of light, I leave the corner, cross
the room, and bounce off tiny bars and
grab to keep myself from passing by
a cluck, it's fucked and so am I.