I can only write now,
there are windows
that open
and never close
and I am one of them.

There are bees
that bumble
in the sun
and die of over-exhaustion
on flowers with licks
of color on the petals
littered with the other papery wings
of my lovers,
I am one of them too.

There are wheels
that scream off of tractor-trailers
and impale people,
I am one of them too.

I am one of those men
that kisses women
who do not
or  
cannot
love him.

I fall from frothy clouds
onto your doorstep;
I run with ants
until my flight bones
are yellow
and the marrow
is dry.

Admittedly,
I am both
of them.

I am
a
completely
oblivious
destroyer of
the sky
and I write
because I am one of them.