caged bird - is starring into the horizon
dreaming of the touch of the luminous sun
a wingless creature,
terrified her prison will be swept away into a cruel, humid coffin


...how high
                 can a mockingbird fly?


in twilight hush's, a silhouette's hasty and restless strides, do not want to stop.
the girl is darting to her death as if there was an expiration date - only that she set it for herself

she walks the line where the shadows close
her eyes scanned the surroundings, weary of undesired company
the place is empty and she resolutely starts taking her steps with more urgency


....how high
                 can a mockingbird fly?

in the cage, a feather departed on the vexing floor
the puppeteer toying with the girl's body is moving her ahead to the guardrails
a futile endeavour is made to drift away by the bird
now she is not a bird, but collapsed heap of flesh and breakables bones

....how high
                 can a mockingbird fly?


a jelly leg is now levitating above the edge,  bleeding finger tips have asked the waves crashed on the shore, to seal a forbidden agreement
she s promised they will be at their highest when she is ready to let go and later be entombment

....how high
                 can a mockingbird fly?

A mockingbird mocks
She hardly hears

The twinkling sound
of stars falling in her eyes

Her mind is too far away
Strayed in the light-speed
of the found and the lost

Dizzy, is she
She feels trapped
Inevitability of the universe

She is just that mockingbird
She hears

The world hears neither of them
But both can pretend

I don’t know if it’s just the bitter cold
or the failure of the liquor to warm my soul,
but there’s frostbite on my lungs and an emptiness deep inside me.
“The future is bright” oh what a lie,
spending every night with my only company; the sky,
the stars lose the fight and even fade when the sun rises high,
and it does so spitefully.

I’ve got unlimited time,
claiming invincibility as a crime.
I’ve got an endless list in rhyme,
but I have no conclusion.

Tell me Scout, is this a joke you were planning?
Boo Radley’s tree is not for hanging.
Gritted teeth and fists are banging.

I’ve got unlimited time,
but no energy left for the climb.
I’ve got never ending points to chime,
but it’s all an illusion.

Tell me Scout, is this a joke I’m not understanding?
Boo Radley’s tree is not for hanging.
Dodging punches and slurs they’ve all been slanging.

I evaluated the situation up and down, left and right,
and I still don’t think it’s accurate of that night,
‘cause the level was too hard when I meant to choose beginner.
I tried to hold your interest with all my might,
but I noticed your eyes drastically dim in light,
the screen flashed “game over” before we were even done dinner.

Dear Ed,
you Kate,
          Ted,
        Do you sometimes wish you didn't know how some things were just so?

Yours sincerely,
                             Kaydee.

Have you ever just seen the normal things?
I mean really see them

Like the intricately woven fingers of a Conifer leaf
The riveting shades of green that changes like the colour of the ocean
The light green spills over the dark, in a wild but beautiful contrast

Like the smokey rust of an autumn orange leaf
Falling ambivalently
Where the wind blows
Like the crisp ruby of a freshly picked raspberry
The deep, angry knots locked in wood
Or the spiralling beanstalk, climbing and reaching

The plume of colour from a flower
Pebbles lapping against a woven patio

Understand.
Perspective.

Take some time to really see something, for the first time.