Like a Blackbird
by Hillary Lyon



he looks into the camera
looks inside to see himself
pulling tiles off the subway's walls

overhead the street is an illuminated river
of corpuscles bustling streaming
screaming for his attention

he flirts with the crowd and calls out
watch my hands watch me dance
is this better?

back home on the walls
the paint peels like a sunburn
he stands in an empty bathtub

tries to fly like a blackbird
useless arms flapping frantic as wings
that he dreams will take him hither and yon





Illya's Honey Literary Journal

Copyright by Dallas Poets Community. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.