Picking at Bird Bones

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 Picking at Bird Bones


In my effort to release my poem's stitch, 

I find myself, three articles deep,

in the biology of birds.


Rather than my compacted stanza, 

it's my temples which receive a massage.   


Who knew only the most important 

remiges feathers (and a couple at the tail) 

are ligamented to the bone;  


that all the other plumes bloom from what we might call 

goose bumps;  fuse from one form into another 

all with names that sound like pirates to me...


Or that like pirates' long hair, feathers are considered

dead structures. Turns out nature's seasons are a barbershop, 

the bird's skin a strange kind of sheer.  


My other poem still suffers from it's Charlie Horse, 

"sinews and pupilla" doesn't have the right ring

Yet, I've learned things, and my imagination's shifting... 


So there's that. There's always that. 

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