BIRDS that TUMBLE from CLOUDS

but only to enter an earthly lexicon

I can’t get there    my imagination can’t
earthbound        we-know-not-what
lonesome

in a time of change
night turns into day
and vice versa

even if darkness suggests death
the sun, often aslant, shining through leaves
shines through leaves
in winter

we see shadows
instead of shade
that makes me like
a social critic

bumped along by industrial rhythms
happening to people

I’d feel so dead by the end of it
if I had to read the whole world

squeezed out
exiled

that might be okay

maybe the birds are a clunky metaphor because the desire is so ridiculous

what about tomorrow

doted upon

*

June 9, 2013