Laughs marooning on the shore
The wind tried to drown them
But the sea only wanted more

Where was I when you were talking to me?
Moon-like dreams, but the side no one sees,
The harpooned surface taking hit after hit
To stay pretty.

Fields in Albany
May seem wrong
And inconcrete--
but so are my thoughts,
my sugared reality
With rows and rows
of half-bloomed daisies--
Some flicker out of reach
But with so many,
how can my eyes but deceive me?

My mind harbours its own salutary neglect,
Disregarding the rapidness in my chest,
The perspiration on my skin,
Does it not see how these thoughts
Are affecting it?

My thoughts are frantic
Over acts I committed,
small things,
tiny,
Are they even strange
in the eyes of the receiver?
Or am I imagining my fault
In something with
wide-eyes,
and genuine curiosity?
My mouth betrays me.
I convince myself daily.
But is it merely my rumination,
The after effects
of insecurity and faulty reason,
That make me strangle myself
With doubt and worry?

Wings are unnecessary.
We do not need them
To leave the nest.
They add a flight of risk,
A freedom full of aesthetic
--But perhaps
It is more poetic
To dig your beak
Into the cypress,
Lowering yourself,
With each wood chip
A hole in the descent
To unfeathered freedom.