Of Hands, of Panic, of Birds & Of Bone!
Of Hands, of Panic, of Birds & Bone!
I repeat this phrase like an itch,
Like a spell, scrambling for the switch
that will blind these thoughts
No, bind these thoughts so I can keep on living,
keep on moving, one step away
From a little bit of hell.
Of Hands, Panic, Birds & Bone,
Hands, Panic, of Birds, of Bone.
I repeat this phrase like an itch, like a spell
Because I know I can’t dress this problem in a bell
and a bow-tie, and charm my way out of it.
I’m not a child anymore,
And I know to whom I answer.
Of Hands, Panic, Birds, Bone
I repeat this phrase like an itch, like a wish
That if only my hands were stronger
My heart was bolder
I could tie my bones together, with shrapnel rope,
And never see the weathered skin.
I Itch and I Hitch and I Knot and
I Wish To know what I should be wishing for –
hands, panic, birds and bone.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
Sometimes a person is what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Metaphors and rhetoric can deny
you yourself and your troubles,
for what they are –
(a figure alongside others, growing in the dark
all grasping for something better, some searching and not finding, some looking but not watching, some gazing at dread reality, and some glancing at something beautifully pointless
and pointlessly beautiful)
– Twinkle, twinkle, star up high,
You won’t find solace in the thin night sky.
Copyright © Isaac Boothman 2020