I could sing it to you
Gentle and mournful
The salient arch of white wings
Against a bleak backdrop
Of defrocked trees in stasis
For the spring sap
To rise
Wispy buds of pastel pink rupture
Throaty melodies
Coax the sun from somber skies

Or I could give it to you straight
No chaser
No dilution to offset the burn
This just got real
And you’re all up in my face about it
As If you could slap down
The change in your pocket
As the full payment for my salvation
When you yourself are the bars to my larger cage

I keep my circle small
Pluck the pin feathers before I fledge
So I don’t beat myself to death
Struggling against my own **** expectations
Trade my freedom for security
And the surety of bread on my table
And a hive of hornets in my head
Perched on the reality
We are never truly free.
TL Boehm
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