Michael Farrell

Early Wilde / Late Wilde

dear Bird          your Feathers stretch becomingly Beneath
the Settee. i love your Beak more than you Know; and when
i go among the Habitats – of the River when home, the Zoos
when away – i Smile to think of your Lines. of course I mean this
Ambiguously. i like to think your Gold eye Shadow is

dear Bird          from a Jar in tennessee. the Evening falls
On japanese Skin, making even us ‘Potatoes’ attractive
Never read. never be more Ethical than your Inner need. don’t
Sympathise if i Bleed like a Farm animal skewered in a bar
strip the Feathers from your chest in Excitement at the final on the Screen


dear Bird          climb out of the Game. the Fences creep
in like a Desert in reverse. There’s understanding in the Pockets of my
dressing gown: like a Sentimental boxer who keeps Chickens in Retirement, hand
feeding them Wheat from a Glove. forgive bad Shoes
the Priest at the Party said. forgive even the Scratches on your face. look

Dear bird          at the ground. a Palm’s not only a Nest
let’s Clean off some of that Makeup and Slowly familiarise
ourselves with the Context. tell me a Few things about Your journey, arrival
what you Think of when i say ‘sorrow’. this is a Letter, not a Net
or a pellet. when I describe you as Irish, i merely mean Alive


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