thinking tonight
about birds
and migration patterns
and the nature of flocks
and also of
nurture
and sutures and stitched up things
and of deep bleeding wounds and how
needle-nosed pliers and birds on a wire
seem to make sense of each other
and nosebleeds and other mysteries
made for
love and for tissues
connective like tendons
and also like kleenex
and kisses
placed just in the air above
my wounded joint and blown hot now
inexplicably painless somehow
made right
and kissed by my mother, who
bandaged up tenderly and
with suggestions of other things
like sugar had suddenly succeeded
in making it feel nothing like pain and
all but the band-aids applied reminded me now
it was ever anything less than
scabs to pick off in time and now
all better.
and i'm thinking of just how it turned out
that scabs fall off into scar-tissue rot and
also of how the sticky sweet air
found me unaware and off-guard,
it caught me like dragonflies in shock and all tangled up inextricable and intertwined in lattice-like twine and stunned into silent submission and netting and left me wide-eyed madness and thinking of love and of loss and of unthinkable passion and sinkable floating things like boats and frogs that were once just tadpoles, or so i'm told to believe in evolution and all that was lost for which the proof remains hidden that it ever existed in more than my own destructive heart and misplaced trust piles in the corner of your mind swept up with dustbunnies and outdated misguided words. and also i'm thinking of birds tonight, and of flying lessons and airplanes and how easily sewn up are some degrees of broken in hearts and in me
and wings up in trees and in nests meant to lay hands that heal and give takers and flying machines and broken dreams precious, precarious and delicate places of barely-there balance and unrivaled quiet the makers of my most humbling these moments of bliss and supervised rest so deeply felt within the bones and the cracks between them open and gaping and scar tissue making but unaching here as long as you sit beside me and breathe life and sing songs to fool time into thinking its better unwound and clocks lie too and your gentle touch moves couch pillows and cushions inside me
somewhere near spiderwebs and dens of lions and bones crushed by time unable to bend it snapped me and left me for sidewalk sweepers to poke and schoolboys to play hooky with maybe or hopscotch and unlike the rope on a tetherball game on the playground my mind swings around and i stay unmoving unfeeling dead and frayed like the rope much too old for young hands to make sense of like mud puddles splash wars in the precious minutes and rainbows that follow the downpour and the eye of the storm you too, understood how to make sense of this mess of me and my corners all purposeless and curled by fire, long languished and left there black and so fragile with almost and smelling like rain and what's left still and burnt pages unsure of the binding now between them
tendons torn out like ligaments and tissues in need of healing and songs to sing and sense-making things like couches and heart-felt strings made into bows and families like this making rhymes out of dustballs and mothwings and string the bits and the crumbs of what some may have tossed along with the trash out the window of the moving bus and the impact of inertia forgotten in the rear-view memory where the past ought to blur together and remain and not breathe the same air as the living and the worthy and the world of birds unflying which you seem to accept as normal and fine and welcomed with gusto and unexpected awareness all quiet but obvious in your eyes and now i see it in your living room and you let me rest here until i can heal and hear the words again in lyrics I've
written in scribble and chickenscratch somehow all over the walls now in this fortress of yours and this healing well impromptu where worms fed mean less than the love it took out of you and your beaks to donate them and help mend the broken bones and wings and rumbling earth after it quakes i cannot imagine how many silly lines like these unwritten
and more to the point they've fallen out of me now will have to suffice as a tribute to you and a thank you of sorts and somehow a show of emotions best left at the fingertips and ink-filled pens and tears that smear into drying proof of me broken open and dripping unable to show how deeply in touch and touched i am now by wings and words and fireflies kept alive against all odds and inspite of myself i make room in my heart for new types of old love and old words and a world in my head that stopped making sense get swept up with dustmites and sound bytes and fall like rain now into the corners of floorboards and leak out with the runoff down tree trunks gravity bound as it hits the earth now with certainty and leaves me
clean
and lucky to feel anything like this love and penetrating hug and everything between us shared and unsaid thankful and blessed and stuck with the task of setting down roots that withstand storms and myself and tests of time and distance perhaps best left untested and just written of here and within the context of strawberry ice cream and smiles and me safe and amazed at the strength of this nest.
it caught me like dragonflies in shock and all tangled up inextricable and intertwined in lattice-like twine and stunned into silent submission and netting and left me wide-eyed madness and thinking of love and of loss and of unthinkable passion and sinkable floating things like boats and frogs that were once just tadpoles, or so i'm told to believe in evolution and all that was lost for which the proof remains hidden that it ever existed in more than my own destructive heart and misplaced trust piles in the corner of your mind swept up with dustbunnies and outdated misguided words. and also i'm thinking of birds tonight, and of flying lessons and airplanes and how easily sewn up are some degrees of broken in hearts and in me
and wings up in trees and in nests meant to lay hands that heal and give takers and flying machines and broken dreams precious, precarious and delicate places of barely-there balance and unrivaled quiet the makers of my most humbling these moments of bliss and supervised rest so deeply felt within the bones and the cracks between them open and gaping and scar tissue making but unaching here as long as you sit beside me and breathe life and sing songs to fool time into thinking its better unwound and clocks lie too and your gentle touch moves couch pillows and cushions inside me
somewhere near spiderwebs and dens of lions and bones crushed by time unable to bend it snapped me and left me for sidewalk sweepers to poke and schoolboys to play hooky with maybe or hopscotch and unlike the rope on a tetherball game on the playground my mind swings around and i stay unmoving unfeeling dead and frayed like the rope much too old for young hands to make sense of like mud puddles splash wars in the precious minutes and rainbows that follow the downpour and the eye of the storm you too, understood how to make sense of this mess of me and my corners all purposeless and curled by fire, long languished and left there black and so fragile with almost and smelling like rain and what's left still and burnt pages unsure of the binding now between them
tendons torn out like ligaments and tissues in need of healing and songs to sing and sense-making things like couches and heart-felt strings made into bows and families like this making rhymes out of dustballs and mothwings and string the bits and the crumbs of what some may have tossed along with the trash out the window of the moving bus and the impact of inertia forgotten in the rear-view memory where the past ought to blur together and remain and not breathe the same air as the living and the worthy and the world of birds unflying which you seem to accept as normal and fine and welcomed with gusto and unexpected awareness all quiet but obvious in your eyes and now i see it in your living room and you let me rest here until i can heal and hear the words again in lyrics I've
written in scribble and chickenscratch somehow all over the walls now in this fortress of yours and this healing well impromptu where worms fed mean less than the love it took out of you and your beaks to donate them and help mend the broken bones and wings and rumbling earth after it quakes i cannot imagine how many silly lines like these unwritten
and more to the point they've fallen out of me now will have to suffice as a tribute to you and a thank you of sorts and somehow a show of emotions best left at the fingertips and ink-filled pens and tears that smear into drying proof of me broken open and dripping unable to show how deeply in touch and touched i am now by wings and words and fireflies kept alive against all odds and inspite of myself i make room in my heart for new types of old love and old words and a world in my head that stopped making sense get swept up with dustmites and sound bytes and fall like rain now into the corners of floorboards and leak out with the runoff down tree trunks gravity bound as it hits the earth now with certainty and leaves me
clean
and lucky to feel anything like this love and penetrating hug and everything between us shared and unsaid thankful and blessed and stuck with the task of setting down roots that withstand storms and myself and tests of time and distance perhaps best left untested and just written of here and within the context of strawberry ice cream and smiles and me safe and amazed at the strength of this nest.
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