feather pillow

all through the night
there are starlings.
"look a chickadee"
you say & then i'm there
standing on the bed
with a blow torch 
in my hand.
put it down slowly. 
i was the one
who went out to the coop
to pick the chicken.
grabbed them & stuffed them
into the nightmare.
we must eat to survive
or so i am told.
there are animals
who don't. butterflies
without mouths. 
i do not want to live
this life if it is only
going to be darknesses
like this. sometimes
i cut out my tongue
just to watch it grow back.
slug factory. 
i do not know
if there is a place i could sleep
in the way i want to.
there used to be
the old apartment.
with sun coming in 
every window. i did that
for you though. i didn't 
do that for me. tell me please
what does it look like
inside a feather?
is everyone laying down
& looking up 
through the leaves of a tree?
is everyone sick & in bed?
the pillow was not as comfortable
as you might think.
instead it felt 
like a body bag. i breathed in
the animal. tossed & turned.
a pocket full of change.
i want to lie down
but the birds keep plucking
at my strings & propping me upright.
wake up. wake up. wake up. 
i am the birds of course.