Please dismiss my squawk, excess blurbing, babble; 
Chipper riffraff. 

i spend work hours editing dead bird.
pen bendy against the pressure

I still had a strange urge to take off my shoes in your house, 
no matter how many times I went. And can you blame me, 

press our bare chests 
Onto the cold steel

gently gnawing and pecking away 
at all my freakish memorabilia.

at least
in hell

The way; my ache suggests a day, a week
Or month of lifting thirty pounds of heavy