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…

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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.