Like a bird
with clipped wings,
we flutter;
lift off a few feet
then tumble towards truth.
If only
this dampened draft
could gear into
a forceful gale,
providing these primary flights
substantial thrust.
Yet, sociatal fingers
have locked paper chains
around our limbs;
filching freedom of flight.
(and thought)
But when sparkles sprout,
resplendent strength
within our skin,
feathers combust
- spontaneously -
incinerating stringed sheets
of society.
The phoenix within births,
then finds freedom
in ashes.












very tight




25 old applause
