Magpie

I am a magpie building a nest 
on the rotten apple-core branch   
of a vine-choked tree:  
constructing a castle     
with deft theft      
from stranger's love letters;    
from stained windows;    
broken irreverently     
by boys throwing stones;    
and decorated with rusty watch faces     
that remind me of little old men,    
but never of time.    

It is a curious structure,     
woven together with care and caution tape,    
the halls decked with heartstrings    
that I held on too tightly,    
that I pulled with a bit too much zeal.    

I am taking my sweet time
with this domicile of mine,
because time is all I have
and all I do is waste it.
Even such a wasted life
might aspire to appear
aesthetically pleasing.

You are the bad penny that I keep picking up -     
but you don't shine anymore.    
It has become a habit     
when I see you lying    
face down in the road       
alone.    

Then I forget the worst of you      
and I.    
It’s hard to recall,      
conveniently,      
who threw whom away,      
and I find myself desperately     
hoping for the best,      
if only to prove that hope exists.    
 
You are karma for the way that I am.      
I claim to want a nice one,      
but it's never the boys     
with the sheepish gazes –          
it's the men with wolfish grins    
I let eat me alive.      

There must be a change,      
I promise to quit,      
first thing tomorrow      
(unless of course      
my sly fingers       
crossed surreptitiously       
behind my back      
while      
I was distractedly     
distracting you      
and      
practicing my sincerity.)

Truthfully?      
That is just me all over.      
I have the attention span of a moth      
in the night at a candle light vigil.      
I’m a liar who cannot commit.      
 
I am a victim of mixed metaphors,      
but rarely victim of a broken heart      
because I choose relationships      
that are doomed to fail.      
 
I pursue these quickly ticking time bombs      
of dissatisfaction and disaster –            
the expiration date makes me feel safe      
knowing I never have to get too close.      
 
Fight or flight –      
I break hearts without regret,      
though not without feeling;            
yet, for all the damage I cause      
with my reckless behavior,      
I am sorely sentimental.      

Dear Mr. Karma,      
I think you should know      
the piece of you that’s missing      
is holding my leaky roof together,      
and when it rains      
it strikes such a familiar chord.      





——— ——— ——— ——— ——— ——— ———