Re: Songbird In An Iron Cage [Lion]Mature

I plucked a feather from the head of a hairless rabbit,

Yesterday, when the sun had reached my swollen ankles,

And washed his body in lilac mud,

Hung him in the shade of a blue hut.

All the while singing of my life in Kuwait,

With the long black braids

And the red wooden beads.

And we would sing

The Hairless Rabbit Song

In our soft white furs

And let our hair grow, and

We would sing to him

As we plucked the feathers from the head of each hairless rabbit

Songbird feathers,

And washed his body in our shriveled stomachs and acid tears,

Hung him in an iron cage,

Left him out to dry.

And he grew feathers.

He flew to the moon and back,

And he grew feathers.

The red wooden beads went tick tick tick

When the bells tolled noon

And he grew feathers.

Sprouting from his iron cage,


Like a bottle of warm milk, except that we had no bottles

In our blue huts

Of white furs.

And we had no red beads,

In our black braids,

And our bright spears,

War cries,

War cries, songbird,

War cries.

Whisper, iron cage,

Listen carefully.

We skinned the feathers from my hairless head

And we washed them in the rabbit

That had already dried in the shadow

Of our blue huts.

(225 words)

The End

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