this morning, my ear

this morning, my ear
is ringing. i have not heard
this note before, and now i
will never hear it again.

somewhere in the
shadows of a box seat,
an aging canary beats
her wings, voiceless


  1. Glenn Buttkus

    This poem is strong, held together with titanium poetics. /i have not heard/this note before/ and neither have we, something temporal, spiritual, etherial. I will dream now, searching for that note myself, and others; those songs, those melodies that play only once, and though they haunt us, they are hard to recall; dreamscape tunes. And to show the connectiveness of all life, that the note belonged to a bird, who gave it up, or lost it, so that you could experience it; that old wheel of life feel, some die, make their transition, just as others enter, wet with natal mucus, eyes open but not able to focus, as this old world dazzles for a time. Yes, a fine poem. Thanks.

  2. y

    they say that sometimes when you hear ringing, it’s a nerve snapping, and you won’t ever hear that note again. and i imagined an aging prima donna of a canary retiring into the shadows of a box seat, possibly with venom, like she is trapped and forced to listen to some young upstart (smile).

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