i remember

the warmth i felt
the euphoria
something i’d never felt before
there in your arms
with your heartbeat in my ear
you were alive to me
i could hear it for myself

i closed my eyes
keeping it
my hand on your chest
eyelids flutter
smiling
my cheeks hot
that warmth everywhere

i feel you look down at me
watching
i knew i mattered
in that moment
i gave in

that feeling

so ephemeral
i knew it wouldn’t last
with you
i was right to want to preserve it
it really was but a moment
one moment
gone

I can't
breathe and my palms are sweaty and my
legs have gone numb but I can see my knees
trembling and I can feel my cheeks getting
hot as the blood in my veins pours into my
sterile heart and back out into my stream of
unconsciousness and I'm screaming but the
noise just won't come out and I'm screaming and
I'm screaming and I'm screaming but I'm silent.

Flutter flutter
little bird.
Flutter flutter
little thing.

Hush and listen
to this song I sing.
Good health and good fortune
to you,
it will bring.

So flutter little bird
flutter to me oh precious one.
Listen to this song that I will sing,
listen to my song
the song of the stars.

“Are the stars in the sky,
like you and I?
Do they flutter
or do they fly?
Do they shed their shining feathers
and make their nests out of
sticks and heather?
Do they sing sweet songs
or forgive each other
of all slights and wrongs?
Are the stars like you and me?
Can they soar in the air
so high and so free?
Can they loop and swing
flip or sing?
Or,
are they just stars?”

So flutter little bird
flutter little thing,
and don't forget a word
of the song that I sing.

You meet "the one".
they make your stomach flutter
And your heart stop.
You look in their eyes and think
You're the one.
Time goes by,
He's not the one.
You leave.
You meet "the one".
They make your stomach flutter
And your heart stop.
you look in their eyes and think
You're the one.
Time goes by,
He's not the one.
you leave.
You meet "the one"...

what have i to do with these grips,
these squared, white knuckles
holding tight to handle bars?
what have i to do with these empty stares,
eyes void of truth?

these "fill-in-the-bubble, A B or C, music only reaches the ears" types of humans
attempting to tell me how to carry out my existence,
attempting to tell me the most efficient
practical
mindless ways to die?
attempting
to tell me
to show me
the most rewarding ways
to die.

what have i to do with these sculptors
who try and quantify the rain,
who try and evaporate
the sun?
what have i to do with these ideas of perfection, of what is best?
these assumptions of false fulfillment,
these preludes to orderly, institutionalized chaos
and contempt?
what have i to do with all of these cardboard boxes
which cannot differentiate between being filled
empty
open
closed
soft
rough
dry
loved?
what have i to do with those who cannot detect their own storms,
their own energy waiting to explode?
what have i to do with one shade of blue?
what have i to do with feet that cannot move,
knees that cannot bend?
what have i to do with white houses
black cars
trimmed bushes
a front porch?
what have i to do with stationary?
what have i to do with these wings
unless they are free to flutter?
what have i to do with structure
with corners
with average
with plain?
what have i to do with boredom
with settling
with insignificant breath?

what have i to do with waste?
what
have i
to do
with waste.