Schrödinger’s Sparrow

backseat, o i like the backseat
so keep on driving away from the sun.
taxi, o i’ll call you my hired hand
but don’t mind the meter
till we pull in.
and i’m cold as obsidian arrowheads and
i’m tired like a hinge
and the night’s undeniable now
and there are people out in it in terrible jeopardy
or wadded and warm in domestic dreams
and they sleep –
and they sleep –
as one hand on the wheel, you are
turning the light on for me.
oysters don’t grow on trees:
it’s a fact that means nothing, or next to nothing to me.
but down in the cloisters, i heard that you’d seen
someone poisoning pigeons with oysters
and throwing their bones to the sea.
and i feel that i’m being deceived!
and i’m laid bare as a nail,
and i am desperately dragging my heels;
but the contract’s a killer, it’s making my
edges unclear
and each time that we swerve –
well it’s my nerves under your wheels.
so, backeat. yeah, i like that backseat
and you like driving, so i guess we’ll be bonnie & clyde for now.
o but i panic, when i’m left to my own divising,
i fear that my mind is unkind
and my body is slowing you down.
and my heart’s an obsidian elephant and
creaks like a hinge
and i am broad as a morning in spring.
i was born in an Anderson shelter on the
first full moon
and i am tight as a telephone’s ring.
i am BRIGHT like shrödinger’s sparrow and i am
poor as a nail
and i’m desperately dragging my heels.
and i try –
and i try –
and i try –
but if ever i drive,
well you’d better watch out for the wheels.
(i am cold as obsidian arrowheads and
tired like a hinge
and the night’s undeniable now
and there are people out in it in terrible jeopardy
or wadded and warm in domestic dreams
and they sleep –
and they sleep –
and they sleep –
as one hand on the wheel, you are
turning a light on for me.