CROOKED ARROW
  • About
  • Submissions
  • Bullseye
  • Issue 6
  • Archive

L. R. Bird

WE ALL FALL IN LOVE WITH OUR BEST FRIENDS & THEN WE DIE LIKE THAT ​

i could tell you about the ocean. the big one. the one that stretched 
its arms until it lapped at her feet. or the small one. in their collar-
bone. jumping like rain-water. or the park-bench. the bird-song. 
the anonymous Tumblr message, answered. the poem i won 
the whole season with, splattered, gulping, in the last venue 
i came home to. or the accidental mimic. the knowing-your-
body-better-than-the-radio-knows-the-popular-songs. 
popular just means we’ve sat hands-clasped listening 
enough times that we could karaoke the chorus if 
someone put a gun to our heads. i could sing you 
without faltering. i know exactly what you sound 
like. or watching people i love love each other. 
watching two people become one snake 
biting off its own tail but forgetting how 
to swallow. watching love love itself. 
watching her throw out another post-
card. watching him host her name 
in his mouth which means her legs 
onto the stage which means he’s 
got dry-heat eyes & we’re gonna 
drink until we look like who we 
want us to be. or the flowers 
shoved behind the chair. or 
the car split open on the 
highway. the apartment 
left unlocked. the hand-
written note. the last 
​mouthful of coffee.


​

L. R. Bird is a cryptid from the Jersey Shore and a belligerent transsexual criminal with a history degree. They are the author of, among other chapbooks, BLOODMUCK and INVENTION OF THE MOUTH, and want to hear about your favorite bridge: birdpoet.github.io
Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.
  • About
  • Submissions
  • Bullseye
  • Issue 6
  • Archive