Birdsong has found some of his daughter Krystal’s poetry written while she was in high school. Krystal was a wonderful child and I wish that she was still with us. I found these poems in a “composition book” she kept while sorting through her effects. I do not know whether Krystal ever shared these poems with any one else…and I sure do not understand what they mean… but I thought I would share them with a wider world. she wrote so well….enjoy.
“Night and day” sang an illustrious young Frank Sinatra in the lush green forests of the desert. I must state this and swim away like a bird in flight. Not much thought is executed here. The carpet ride of the century is bloody and not well examined. A remote control and dead flower lay beside me.
“Let go of your crust my friends!” Why? Rhyming chiming sofa lullabies tell me, no — inform me what is bliss. Double lines, car brakes — sudden something. Sexuality is far gone into the jungles of Abyssinia. No more of your religion and politics (which are, of course, synonomous).
Actors act, soldiers pray, teachers die. The moon sometimes does the same. Don’t try it — ever. Just go and be on your merry way.
–Krystal Birdsong 12/1/97
Clouds roll by, the dark night air gets thin and hard to inhale. Cigarette dreams and fountains of wealth — not to stray from the subject at hand… Perhaps more clouds; a story told by an aborted baby of life that would never…
A filthy hair in some ink, a withered spoon. “Then out of the abyss walked a cow.” Which reminds me that “It’s like I’m being tied to the hood of a yellow rental truck being pushed over a cliff by a suicidal Mickey Mouse,” and so on.
The fires of Hell and then I awake from my cigarette dream and eat an olive. Life is good.
–Krystal Birdsong 12/2/97