it was a sour milk sky at midnight
and i could not confirm my identity
when the drab men spoke in angry
dog voices: are you a mockingbird?
that coat looks like something
from the other side of the wall.
those are not our words or alphabet,
we don't trust your eyes any more
than your hat or shoes, anyway.
this bridge is for crossing not for
birds with paint on their hands
and zippos in their pockets.
the seeds in your hair betray you
for the alien you are, impostor. go.
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