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  • Jimmy Broccoli

This is the Reason Birds Sing (1994) - The Year I Cut My Wrists Open

He said “goodbye” (and I loved him) – and I fully understand this word…


My family’s house is tidy – not cluttery or unclean –

When the world and life is out of control –

I get out the Windex, the scrubbing bubbles, the mop, and the motherfucking broom –

I scrub and scrub while listening to the Cranberries or to Ministry

and forgive myself for not being an emotionally stronger person


The airplanes and the bombers and the bombs –

They are on their way –

Flying through the otherwise empty and quiet sky

The high-altitude airy blue begins to weep –

causing reluctant and sorrowful rain to fall upon the land –

it knows what is coming…


“The bombs are away”, says the bomber into his two-way radio –

they fall heavy and indelicately towards the ground beneath –

nobody and nothing look towards the sky unless expecting something –

the animals do not scamper away, the insects do not burrow beneath –

the humans do not call 911 in a panic –

and why should they (?) – I am the target –

shop as usual, love as usual, go to work as usual…


the bombs are away


They fall – and they hit – and they detonate successfully –

I am watching old Bugs Bunny cartoons and crying – usually the classic episodes make me feel less like shit


but – they aren’t enough


I hear the impact of the bombs (in real time) and observe no more –

I observe no more as the newly colored knife blade falls to the floor in defeat –

It falls not in slow-motion, as happens in the movies and on TV –

it plops – almost without a sound, without care, against the carpet

– even if there is no one to hear it –

and I, soon, will no longer be breathing


Danger, danger Will Robinson


My parents are in the living room watching “Friends” (I’m quite certain) –

my father’s laughter is the last sound I remember hearing –

my father has a good laugh –

my mother loves her crocheting, benzodiazepines and bon-bons –

she sits next to my father on the couch tolerating the canned-laughter on the television –

and wishes she was elsewhere


The evening whispers gently to those who are listening –

and the birds chirp for no other purpose than to mourn the suffering –

to mourn the dead and the soon to be departed

- they chirp for those who will not make it ‘til tomorrow –

this is the reason birds sing…


this is the reason birds sing –


this is the only fucking reason birds sing


Photo: Jimmy Broccoli.



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