Here I

here I sit

on a wooden chair

inviting the birds

of felony

to scratch my skin

and choose my nerves

as the building block

of their domicile

here I stand

alone on street

staring at a dead twig

menacingly

the tree it left

now soul bereft

I pick it up

and twist it in my knee

here I walk

with a girl

under an umbrella

beneath the roof

she called me

to join in her facade

now I accompany the 

drizzle in her heart