methods of travel
meandering among the clouds my
wingbeats grow weak as i stretch stretch extend my tiny wings
veering in descent as the calm air carries me
as i somehow emerge justly daintly exactly where
i'm supposed to be
watch yourself, look hard enough through their emerald shells.
ghosts plaster themselves in the bark of an ash tree
and it screams back at them
over their wailing tearful cries
and they grow silent and settle into its core
they say it's surprising how much of a tree is dead, so
there is a home here, if delicate
peer at my hands until my nails fall to the ground.
piercing shrill trepidation
walks through the walls sometimes of glass
of seeing- but a in a deluge such that
is it really sight
can i step back and fall through the floor
unfurling my hand in panic as i finally see the sky
through the tips of my fingers
for that is the path of the migrating bird.
oh to succumb to the will of the hive
you know when a queen bee emerges
fragments of truth whistle into my
she prevents her fellow queens from hatching
email inbox and calls and throttling
by beating her wings rapidly to form a sound
my wrist to steal my keys and seal
and the workers forget.
off all the escape routes you are filled with animosity-anger-fake-love
with the other queens still stuck in their chambers
hadn't thought of hurting myself so much in so long
the hive sputters, boils
impressive that you did that
but when it recognizes the new queen
calling yourself my blood relative
a wave of stillness captures every last bee
take your fancy fucking car
for a moment.
and possession away.
harpy hotel
sit at the desk with me- here here theres a seat watch your wing
welcome our guests-
when they talk talk squawk
pierce the top of their hand- ouch!
careful not to pierce the table it cost
ot-our manager a lot
their blood will serve as id-identification
lapping up nucleotides-t with a cilver spoon.
they might- flap your wings, they might ask all of a sudden
to not see our smile - smile, show them now
to the door - bow, they'll leave a note about how you are loved but also
you owe them money.
baby bunny
walking in twilight
on our left a membrane is punctured
ears pop out and birds loom overhead
everything will be so loud for this child i hope
the eyes peering from the edges of my vision
aren't too loud for it.
i hope it hears the pattering of paws on the grass
and sinks into warm graces of where-
maybe a first or second soil horizon.