Statue, Goodbye

July 25, 2010

Then who are these people who claim to live
by living perched above her head?

They seem to live as voices in amazing stories, with
amazed voices, and when they speak,

they seem to speak her name like she was in
a hard-of-hearing shell or  something.

Her name is to be Liberty,
it seems. What a pain in the neck.

They craw, they crow. They peck
into the air. They learn to fly. My God! Liberty!

(Go ahead, make those special sounds only a crow can make.)
(Sure, a crow can give articulation to the wind.)

It was like life was pouring syrup down
her throat. It was too sweet, too much to taste.

They name her first. They claim her name—
as every sentence must.  Liberty.

Yes. I heard you the first time… Imagine
the amazing voices

amid the baby’s breath, along with her
belongings. They claim a blackbird and a crow,

two birds inside her skinny self. It’s amazing.
In the brains of the cosmos.

‘Say it,’ they say. Say, ‘Liberty.’

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