tweet

these birds
outside my
window. filling
the tree, so full
of themselves,
small round
puffs of feathers
that neither sing,
nor speak
with relative
meaning, but
just tweet in
random short
bursts of noise
about this
and that. nothing
really, not
unlike you
do from time
to time, when
you have nothing
really good
to say, but can't
help yourself,
as you stand alone
with your phone
in the rain.