she's just a flask trapped inside a fall

from a rooftop, a pair of seagulls split into flight;
one of them swallowed the sun and fell to its death.
i picked up its pieces and rearranged them,
completing the picture.

the sky was a sheet of tin foil
wrapped around god's leftovers;
the second bird tore it open
and the stars fell out like maggots.

i tossed the corpse into the air,
and it buried its claws in the wind.
after reuniting against of surge of descending maggots,
their wings crumpled to the ground like leaves but they kept flying.

i brushed the maggots out of my hair.