he sat picking
the loose scales
hanging like scabs
hoping to molt
into something new
that wasn’t always
relegated to a
second class commodity
and held at arm’s length
whenever his heartfelt
expressions were left
ignored once again
maybe somewhere
buried deeply beneath
this old form of the
same callous disregard
lay a creature worthy
of the small boons
he learned to stop
begging the silence for
one with bright feathers
capable of capturing
the dappled light
in a way that he would
finally be seen as
more than an afterthought
and someone worthy of
simple reciprocation

he knows better though
as each transmogrification
leaves him less human
and the scattered pieces
he willingly sacrificed
are no more than litter
to crackle underfoot as
he paces back and forth
uncertain of what he is
becoming and having lost
sight of who he once was
an empty vessel drained
by the dreamthorns stuck
through his wicker chest
a discarded magician’s prop
having served no purpose
except to help perfect
another performer’s act
forgotten as the fickle
crowds gather to watch his
public exhumation in a
shower of shattered wonder
in a storm of his own
splintered insignificance