The Headless Bird
According to custom, the old people have shut me away
Not to scare me stupid when they killed the bird,
And I am listening by the bolted door
To the trampling and the struggle.
I twist the lock time has worn thin
To forget what I have heard, to get away
From this struggle where
The body races after the head.
And I jump when the eyes, thick with fear
Turn backwards, turn white,
They look like grains of maize,
The others come and peck at them.
I take the head in one hand, the rest in the other,
And when the weight grows too much I switch them
Until they are dead, so they are still connected
At least in this way, through my body.
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