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
