>They’ve made the first cull…the names whispered in the hallways…everyone wondering when their heads will be the next to roll. And I’m out there on the fringes of a flat plain, aloof as always, examining with a critical eye where the tracks dead-end in a patch of overgrown crabgrass. Déjà vu anticipation of a second slow-motion derailment. Panicky and unconcerned all at once. Head stuffed with bird feathers, bike grease, and unwritten words.
and the culling song plays…
Posted by birds fly on May 13, 2008