maybe I got it all wrong
but it felt like we were migratory birds
flying in the wrong direction
heading to some forsaken destiny
unaware of the turbulence
the speed
basically lost
when you can trust instinct no more
and the bumps of the road become scars
long faces in a boat
shouting on the phone
migratory birds tasting like fish
hardened flesh and rubber hearts
what ever happened to the gorgeous plumage?
you let it go
and let it go away
for good
[stop here, coda follows]
a sudden flash of lighthouse light
there's always land at the other side
yet there was no hope for those who live
flying in the wrong direction
instincts unaccountable
moral shredded and the humor lost
and now we walk past
we just don't say hello
and rush to climb into the last car
before the door closes
my hand was trapped
you lost your limb, your youth
broken woman
three years were not enough
wounded bird
those wings are dead
you can fly no more
not even to forsaken destinies
the wrong direction
warm season is now a distant
faded dream
james berdinger (Falls City, NE, 1980)
