I am so absolutely glad
for my total un-specialness
that I am the only one of me
But I don’t matter and am free
The freedom is so fathomless
That there can be no living inside
nothing sticking
No adhesion on opposite lack of inclines
Because I already cleared the window
Vaulted the rooftop shingles
Leapt the rock-tumbling cliff
Without a stumble, as failing hard
Is what I do with the most grace
Broken poise my most effortless posture
Downward, limbs giddy in freefall swim
With the ground magnifying to exponential
Before the hit, wet crunch and happy spill of
Crimson gladly staining the void
This is my favorite dream
Smiling to the ceiling
Maybe the smell on the wind will hug me for the day
Tastes like a bit of dead release or relief
Veiling between these thoughts
and the swell of noisy limbs that press in without pressing
the daily rituals of wonderful people
truly wonderful spirits
such a shame to be my poison
scraping at my cells
I’m sorry, but leave me alone to the quiet
I am not worth your attentions or intentions
There is a man on the peninsula
No need to believe my blushing voice
But I tell you I saw his wings
A terrifying glisten of feathered violet
Tenderly folded in to sinfully curved hips
Rendered sweet by the laughter which shook them
Exactly the child, strangely seductive
Driven by age and early wisdom
Too many flights through eastern clouds
I saw his wings
Draped with long-armed brothers
Until full lips parted, jaunty crooked
And set forth breath on chords of melody
He sang
Walls thundering down on my shoulders
Veil broken, smashed inward all around
And tongue laced notes whipped down with golden rain
I can’t see, eyes running
But it’s all clear suddenly
The fall is anchored, a line snapping taut
Hooked deep in forgotten scars, finding purchase
And something like glory vibrating down the gossamer line
Something like favorite dreams
Vanilla and cinnamon and bruising wings
Freedom stripped by the throat of a dart-eyed creature
All too-loud amusement, patience and sun-tanned boy
Stole the lost away; filled it with incantation
Brightly fluttering pupils smiling at me
I’m funny to find it so beautiful, he says
And laughs; hyena bark that stumbles me down joyful
Nothing could sound prettier
No angel bell-chime tinkle could compare
And we meet and pass in mornings and afternoons
He lets me sit on his wings
As he sings
Now, I’m living; held aloft, void swallowing only itself
I’m climbing out of the freedom, craving the boyish anchor
Gladly enchained to purple silk vibrato throbbing at my ears
Maybe gold-fleshed crooked smirks are special enough
For the both of us
I will be plain mediocre satisfaction
So that he may burn the hotter at my side
I am so absolutely glad
For my total un-specialness
That I am the only one of me
And I don’t matter
…any less than his wings.
