Allen's Text 988

©2006-Allen Sutterfield

There is something inside, something in my breast, tangled among reeds, crying out for release—perhaps a white bird, lifting itself in a fluttering arc across a sea of infinite sorrow. A voice, a voice like a white bird, hovering in my throat, inching at the roots of my brain, aiming itself at the red roof of my mouth, wanting out, away, into…a real world, a real world.