They empty feathery nests,
smoke cigarettes for breakfast,
and grow black lung trees.
If you asked them anything
about their flight maladies,
they might croak something like:
my wings started folded up—
my chest was a suitable drawer.
when they said ‘down’ I forgot
I had feathers with the same name.
I built this nest inside myself, so
I have a darker place to hide
why do you want to know anyway?
Find your own forest to burn.