Bird As Fish

By MJ Jackson and ND Jackson
The muting cries of silent lives, they speak
And scream upon the windy canyon rock.
They tumble down to where the dried-up creek
It passes round the red steep wall.
They mock me where I stand, these moving lips of fire.
Their voices chase me, burning deeply down;
The air is full of gasoline desire,
It's pregnant with the coals on lips that frown.
They chatter-cackle, vultures in my ears,
Insanity who makes my hands go slack,
A brand that marks upon my face.
It sears the same as forty lashes on my back.
The silent screams of subway prophets speak,
Their empty outlooks, oh, my God, so bleak.