an eviction

i don’t want to write down

every thought that flutters in

and builds a nest between my ears—

it would be like writing a contract;

a lease for this cawing bird

that refuses to shut up.

i forbid him from turning my mind into a birdhouse

for longer than a few days —

in any case, i know,

his wings will grow out of agony, his feathers will carry him far, towards

a stoic survival of my eviction.

and while the silence may relieve me,

if only a little bit,

i do have to admit i sometimes rummage

through the pulsing mess of his empty nest, wishing

the cawing bird

had never shut up at all.