Precious Little Thing is a bird poem, a reflection on captivity and freedom, and on the realisation of dreams.
Precious Little Thing – Bird Poem
What good is the precious little thing caged in the square drawer
of the old oak press in the corner of your bedroom where it is
convicted to rot, grow hairy mould on its red lacquer skin, ripen
green and revolting / it's time to
revolt before the bird sprouts seven dragon heads ugly mouths
snapping one another's rough lips, grimacing, taunting, strangling
the beams which turn in on themselves toward combustion / it's
time to
combust the press before the precious thing explodes or implodes
or both at once in the mouth of the seven-mouthed fire-spewing
dragon who'd turn pussy cat if the precious little bird was let fly
fly away, precious little thing, your wings a feather blanket on the
horizon, clouds nestling, birds painting the sky green.
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