The Only Birds That Stay

unwanted and rudderless
on another underground Sunday
flub-dubbing my way
through the weeks 
the months lost 
like episodes of shows
I don't watch anyway
lately few words come to me
fewer thoughts stay
landing for a moment
on my wires
then gradually
but inevitably 
fluttering away
my hands 
the only birds who stay
busy doing other things
driving cars 
flicking lighters
rarely touching anyone
mainly holding tight
for another 
friendly fire fight
the train I'm on rocks 
and roars me through 
tunnels dug by 
dead men