Day and night, your mother labored
And expelled, (regrettably not
a swallow of a man)
your shivering feathers
tainted with tar and desire
already plotting my demise
without light, you grew
as the leech in my garden
fattened by my lifeblood
and robin unrelenting
hearts of their joy
cradles so innocent
yet, heron out
I’ll drown your toxicity
with torrents of forgiveness
I awoke this morning, a shift;
peering into the spiraled darkness
slowly disintegrating into dancing
particles of lemony sunlight
I was a child once more.
Throwing off my covers, an eager
embrace extended to the world,
joy swelled my little heart
like a forgotten friend.
No empty rooms remain.
Flitting about like a tiny bird
soft down feathers abound
with infinite possibilities
I flew, I flew, straight to you.
And you found me again.
He is a swan and he sits on a black lake trying desperately to save his feathers from soiling.
They all sit around him bobbing their heads in the filth and minding not one bit.
And as time goes by he knows his feathers have begun to dull
And he tries to fly away from it all
But they refuse to let him, he cannot fly, he is but a swan they tell him with pleasure
And he keeps getting filthier as they help paint each feather
And the lake begins to look more like a prison
And he watches his reflection become what he hates
He forgets about that before that has driven him
And he waits and he waits and he waits and he waits
For something he knows will never come
Help from elsewhere so he won’t have to try
Help from elsewhere to make it easy to fly
This help does not come as it was never out there
There’s no help for a swan that’s full of despair
Only he can turn his prison of hate, a lake full of muck, into a better landscape
The day will come when the swan flies away
And the others will watch and they’ll wonder and gasp
Because they thought swans were only swans, they know this from swans that lived in the past
And as this swan flies, sure his feathers are dull, he can barely flap, and his wings are quite small
But now he can see every lake all around
For there are many that wait for him to be found.
This is the first time in a long time
that I’ve done nothing valuable-
useful – significant.
And I have never been so happy -
Yet we’re slightly isolated still -
we’re aloof and alone
always involved, never accounted.
Hark hark - I’m fairly numb -
How quaint, like a lost bird on the ground
whose feathers have become
paralyzed with the truth.
Lost to the world, is he.
As am I, so it seems - I am indeed
estranged from myself,
But I’m quick and clever -
crafty to seal my core.
crafty to seal my soul.
crafty to seal my mouth.
Love is a walk around the autumn pond
My heart resides on the paper in my pocket
I almost wrapped it in a box
To leave at your doorstep
Your cologne and cigarettes stain my hair
When you wrap me in the fabric of your forearms
Lets sit on leaf-scattered grass
Hold a picnic in the middle of December
Lets bring French coffee and pancakes
Much is never enough
As I tattooed feathers on my arms
They are your feathers
Dipped in the ink
From the sonnets you wrote to me
On my paper in the front pocket
Of these worn in jeans.