MURDER BARK

Birds do not breathe anything.
They are an anything that breathes.
Anything that breathes is a bird

out here, where the trees give birth to pencils.
Where pencils give birth in the trees.
Where the birth-dark trees out-hear the pencils

is where I live, hummed and yellowed by the dark.
Where the darkness hums its living yellow.
Living, I wear the yellow’s darkness like a hum.

I love garbage–and I love the trucks that carry it.
Garbage is a truck that carries loveliness.
Love is garbage. I’m the truck that carries it.

—

Jamesxn Perry lives, weirdly, in Amish country. Definitely not Amish though