dead bird

what’s it like to be
a dead thing?

feathers scattered
on the pavement

grounded

gifted back
to the earth

what’s it like to
be stuck?

splattered
and alone

while all other
birds take flight

and don’t
flinch at the

sight of your
immobility

what’s it like
to be motionless?

to leave the world
exactly as it was

before you

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