the birds are crafty/they invade my attempts to make functional pottery/and rise from the wreckage of a wobbly vase

they whisper hurry up when i am raising a cylinder/and hurrying up guarantees the disaster of asymmetry

and then they wheedle i can still be a bird

and they goad and seduce/until a new bird arrives/not hatched but crafted

it is worse than the alfred hitchcock movie

no tippi hedren for one thing

the birds come in jester and gargoyle/for another

and i am the villain for a third

most horrifying of all: i love them/like rosemary loved her baby/like subbies love doms

they fill a table and cram/shelves and nooks/of my apartment

and i can’t wait to make the next one

and have it escape up the flue of my creative fireplace

a birthright citizen of Phoenix