Instead of Blinking

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Instead of Blinking
by pat a physics
Nameless chickenman of my hallucination with your sunglasses on the sun, you are staring at us without a beak on your face. Your beak is the piece of chalk you used to give a lecture on how to grow a beak in order to seem more birdlike. Dividing beak cells were discussed in the chicken scratch on the blackboard, and you live with the screeching blackboard antics in your hut under the dustbin. Your habitat is not physically nurturing, nor is it mentally beneficial. Therefore you are an unhealthy lunatic. All day long, you hope for the cardboard boxes to race through your living space organizing things at an incredible rate. It never comes and you fake-peck the ground for a ghost worm which also is illusive. You never had a thing except for your detached beak and your self-pitying moan. On occasion, your sound lines up with the sound of footsteps in the room. It pulsates in erratic springs with the texture of a kazoo. Then, the empty boxes that people step around to avoid have been dealt with, and the music stops. When you have finished conducting the tap dancing, you start in with your lectures again. The terrible sound of your beak against the chalkboard makes glass shatter. Everyone’s glasses shatter in your no beak wearing face. Feathers are no longer clinging to your skin. You have plucked yourself clean long ago due to your nervous energy. The place where your eyes have sunk in to your skull is located in the exact same place as where your beak is supposed to go. Instead of blinking, you talk. When you are quiet, your mouth is shut and you are blind.