weathercocks

the wind begs for my chin.
thumb. thread. drilling a hole
in my hand to let 
all the chickens out. there you go.
a weathercock is a place you go
to ask where the smoke will hail from.
spinning staircase inside
an ectopic mouth. where we go
to store the future. zephyr of mice 
running through the yard.
the weathercocks beg for forgiveness
as if they were the ones who saw a corn field
& thought, "television." the invention
of the love poem was the last time
anyone ever sighed. the weathercocks 
twirl. little mad ballerinas. 
once, we made one from toothpicks 
& straws. stood in the yard & wept.
there it goes. as far away as it can muster.
keep your nouns close & your adjectives 
full of bobbles & bonnets. i hold on
to my hat. the weathercocks plead 
that we all go outside to see 
a milky sunset full of spiders.
sharing a bite of pickle. brine 
for bedtime. i wish they had a place
to sleep. instead, a weathercock
spends his life guessing & hungry.
this way goes the snakes & that way
goes the angels. feeding you feathers 
i tell you, "it is going to be alright."
a lie is sometimes a kindness.
an offering to the weathercocks.
we bring birthday cake & potato rolls.
watch them feast while the wind
is briefly unread.