a lyre's heart,

plucking these stranded chordae tendineae

until slowly

they all snap off

leaving a bitter crookedness

in its wake.

wet with perspiration,

the slight curvature’s chicanery


a polygraph would have

been able to tell,

but i-

i was an inaccessible island rail

the illusion of flying was

so vivid

i hardly realized that

fundamentally I couldn’t.

but you,

you blue-capped ifrita

with your numbing toxins

at the slightest caress

of a bare-backed knuckle-


you peregrine falcon

with your record speeds

notorious abandonment and

nomadic wandering

and me -

desertification to your species-

whistling a melancholy melody

to the tune of the lies

you shaped.