Feathered thoughts in a cracked cathedral,
I chirp my sins through a broken speaker—
peck at pixels, swear it’s seed,
scroll the sky ’til my pupils bleed.
OK Glass on my wiry tongue,
auto-tune the damage done;
I nest in noise, I molt in flame,
tweet “I’m fine,” then forget my name.
Mother said don’t fly too high,
but the clouds keep liking every cry.