I Sing Because I’m Happy

Is there a difference between sweeping bones executioner
style and being the first to experience music? The horrible
responsibility in anyone’s life is making sense of the tangible-
enough light reflecting off a decomposing body. Often,
I think about infertile birds and their annoyingly empty
nests… How difficult it is to be a Songstress with no one
to lullaby. Surely, those cruel enough to humor themselves
scatter white erasers in the sparrow’s vicinity, hoping to trick
Mama into trapping her beak… But what of the subtle
victory? The bird, now gliding with something resembling
a small block of cheese.