Steven O. Young Jr.

A Murmuration

I’ve spent
my life
on edge,
my spine
 
trembling
at nothing,
 

I am carved out
of
 
terrors
biting at
 
my brittle brain’s
 

craters,

murmured
 
by the emptiness
 
of insight

a blade

whet against
the heavens,

but the wind’s kiss
tastes of rust.

echoes,
toothless little
 
waves inflamed
by a pebble—

relapse
into meaning
 
 

starlings flit
inside
my easeled windows
waiting
to be free.