"Ortolan
BY NATE STAINS
Vein migrations of a
bird wrapped in black
feathered with tears scented with mellow flowers
of forbidden fruits ripened with envy,
indulgence unchecked,
gras, inward feasting, gluttony, boundless,
crowing from the trees
flock of mirrors gathered here for
the passing of the highest idea bound
chains and cedars round
calling now a dirge
notes of dulce and drunkenness abound
how long, this charade of birds,
how long will your head be draped and hidden
oblivion as your friend
you cannot love the leaves on the trees when you love the
sweet scent of pity
from a shimmer of a mirror plate
forget the rest, the world cannot be a feast
no, others are Famine
and are not but bone-picked fish and rotten offal
in your eyes
why look anywhere else?
Come, drunk bird, totter as a newborn
totter as an emperor
and sing your swan-song to that reflection
down below, a perfect shape
of your vein migration.