Just another madness poem

[brosedshield]

 This isn't quite anything yet. But what it is I like

They fly out of my hands like white birds into the sun
I can’t remember what it felt like to stitch on their feathers

So many details to make a story real
And like a word is not true without its roots
(Blogosphere spiraling out of weblogs;)
I need straw, blood, glass shards, anything that cuts
To spin cords that will hold your heart.

I steal what I can from corpses
Rip the rest from my own shadow-corners
And then it flies away and I can’t remember how it felt to give it life.