Birds are beautiful.
The colors, the fucking colors.
Playing like they are plants,
the plants playing pretend too.
No rocks. Just isness
and feather and wing
for days. The point of an arrow
flying true
is something to hear. She hums something 80s rhythm and blues
with no hesitation. Crossing distance kidney shot intentional and
smooth.
Talking to the clouds
gets teary eyed until the seagulls ping back
something foolish.
Spit to the sky at risk of spritz
said the cobbled stone to the skip track.
The skip track said back
"leaves are falling in the fall
and the wind is viscous today,
stay if want can override
the desire to play."
Shake it off. Shake it off.
Everyone can dance,
but bones do know
that blood will show
when it has its mode. Grind and grind and grind and grind
Watch the sun go down,
eat the rain-
