Posts Tagged ‘animals’

I would not choose to be a fish,

always staring with jelly-globe eyes.

True, glittering scales are one consolation,

but always the threat of being eaten,

and always (excuse my vanity) that stupid, gaping mouth.

I would not choose to be a frog,

gulping air by the barrel-full each day,

and always the threat–

if I keep my current sense of direction– of

dessication, because I leaped

far away from a blue crystal pond,

and ended up far from any body of water.

I would not choose to be a bird,

for if the human sense remains,

I would never soar too far off the ground, and

would wind up tangled in a telephone wire,

because I have to wonder if both my and a bird’s attention

spans are about the same short length…

Like a cat,

the feeling lounges in my chest.

Sunlight is less a cure,

more a constraint-

it throws everything into too great

relief. Murk stirs in me;

the raven stabs the phoenix with its beak,

the phoenix will be fully-grown again

in six months.

For now, I look for-

something.

I’m a bottle that wants to be filled.

Have you ever seen a doorknob split in two?

How does petrichor make you feel?

Do you know what petrichor is?

How many people in the world sneeze at this exact moment?

Would there be color without light?

What do birds think about?

How many ants can lift a cherry?

What’s a child’s first reaction to snow?

How many people do you know with heterochromia?

What were your great-great-great-grandfather’s last words?

What were your grandmother’s first words?

How many purses are there in Japan?

What do bees think of humans?

Who was your first hug?

It’s both difficult and easy to

imagine the Sky as something endless.

It is more difficult to imagine

everything under the Sky,

though both sky and the realm below it

have always been,

for every thing living and imagining,

between the two.

Black bird

on my mind.

Peck, caw, tilt head

side to side.

Your dark eyes

are black glass- immobile.

On top of my head

your sharp beak jabs

into my scalp.

Blood trails down

like tears, like red slugs.

I sigh. Your talons have grown

into my skull.

I’ll provide nourishment for you,

if you continue to inspire me.

Gulls are Harbingers-

as much as Robins, yet,

not appreciated as part

of Spring’s welcoming Quartet.

By the light of the full moon

something in me twists

and surges from bottom of feet

to skull,

pounding for release.

By pale light of day

I am shut in this blue-walled cage,

isolated.

And something pounds, claws,

beats tiny, scaly fists

against my forehead; and

something drooling and yellow-eyed

thrums and growls within my chest.

 

There are people who swallow

colonies of liquid in bottles,

who breathe in ash

and press their eyelids against

their pus-colored rotting fingertips,

but not me. These people take in new monsters.

I already have enough monsters in me.

I don’t need this world to put more in.

What torments You?

Your pincers are twitching

abnormally.

You see, we are born

to combat like this.

You shrink at Dawn,

I recede at Dusk.

What torments You?

Is it the sea

sweeping up against your legs?

But that’s Your home.

It should worry me, not You.

Is it this shadow?

this moonless dark

that I create?

We are of the same size.

I cannot overshadow you-

your eyes wriggle

at level with my mane.

I would not wish to harm you

Or is it I?

You want me to understand,

but we are so different-

blood-colored

and amber,

diffusing in the sunset

only for you to glow,

in Your pale nocturnal spotlight,

like a star upon the sand.

I am a beast.

As are You.

Do not focus solely

on our differences.

We cannot fully

comprehend one another,

but I do not cease trying.

What torments You?

Is it all those eyes

raised to You?

All the things You must do?

You must keep up appearances–

hide the scratches on your shell,

keep your eyes earnest, open

and unassuming.

Your life was so placid,

so benignly deluded,

you were not woken.

Until that day.

When the Lion

pounced on the Crab,

and the Crab’s gurgle for assistance

was promptly answered

by the fearsome Bear.

And in the ensuing battle,

You scuttled away

for fear of being crushed,

when I had already

splintered your shell

by sheer weight

and want.

The world revolves.

There is nothing new.

Apathetic as a snail

this city burns its filaments-

ten thousand glowworms.

And yet the world revolves.

Snow presents itself punctually,

resisting warm mechanical breaths

as people stride in their ignorance

like sloths. City streets

are adorned with tiny white mysteries,

but people surge like bees,

smoke like chimneys,

or gaze blank and uninterested

as fish in tanks.

And yet the world revolves-

extinguishing rays that burn

and spark off the snowbanks,

subduing everything under oily blanket

of nightfall.

The world revolves,

igniting new flames to dazzle

in that great ember

that lowered heads continue

to ignore, lest

the revolutions halt.

The river flows through the forest,

never stopping, always rushing,

with it come fish and debris

swept up in its current

then deposited cruelly in a place they do not recognize.

But the trees stand firmly,

proud and tall.

Branches billow in the breeze.

They are quiet homes for birds and other creatures.

They provide food, and they do not protest.

The chaotic river runs wilder and wilder,

gaining speed toward the edge of the forest.

It grabs whatever it can find and

drags these things over the edge

of the forest where

the tranquility is gone.

The fish and the rocks

swept away by the river

perish at the end of their descent.