Refrain stolen from Joe's facebook status update

Dead bird under the bed Have you heard me of late? Sleep comes like a shipwreck these days and the wind oh the wind, how it pulls at my sails. I do not believe that this is a matter of song although your voice-- you sing like the whole gospel choir. Dead bird under the bed I have been counting your babies this spring necks crooked-bent on sidewalk lines tiny feather, just fistfuls of string, rest slick against pink balloon-stretched skin. their eyes are always closed. their eyelids a drowned blue. They are broken on sidewalks in every city I visit so far, twenty-seven have tried to fly. Dead bird under the bed I do not remember how your eyes went missing just how those holes look all empty and black, and how you started to sing one day sad and slow. Familiar southern songs singing the sun to rise. you sing tales of shipwrecks or necks bent wrong-angled and how I started to steal those songs to name them Dream. Dead bird under the bed I never did know you alive so it isn't so much about missing you as it is missing the potential you and knowing that these songs, these sad sweet songs are mine and that this silence this long and still black silence is yours and I do not really know where your eyes have gone.