Bird with serrated leather jacket collar When you sip that drink and hit yourself with a mauler Drop a sigh, with your eyes toward the sky but don’t fly, it’s alright to sit low, cry, stay back home in July, and just standby. There is no need to commodify
You’re not a lousy fly stuck in a rut nor a feather helplessly swinging into dirt You’re a singer singing each note with your unbuttoned white shirt and a chain of daisies around your throat
And remember the melodies your senses wrote? There are places you will go, when you follow the lilts in your heart’s own flow, and when into resonance the murmur grows, there can be no better show there can be no better show