nonesolovely
I have spent my days
longing for the open wind—
For a time when
I will no longer be
an object.
But time passes me by,
as clouds rolling overhead.
Time cannot be grasped;
Its sand leaves my hand,
carried on the breeze.
Now I've come to realize:
I will always be
an object.
So I choose to be a kite string,
slipping through someone's fingers,
ascending to the open sky.
In the waking dawn,
counting bruises I met:
fruits of the season,
I have yet to forget.
My memory drawn
under the outer crust—
the edge of reason—
indomitable lust.
she saw the truck too late to turn
she felt when supple flesh met solid steel
she tasted blood on the steering wheel
she smelled gasoline begin to burn
the explosion was soundless to she
who was deaf since she was age three
this is the state of things
dirty business all around
no flight with clipped wings
for our sins we are bound
to a life sucking down mud
so then to free our tethers
we pay in swan's blood
and pristine white feathers
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