Free as a bird

a flight of fallacy
recycled
the concept of an egg
shattered

we love to fly
in circles
feeding on the seeds
of revolution

Getting tired
of the whole thing,
even though we don't really know
where we're going to wind up.

The grim,
terrible reality,
poor legal advice,
and so on,
and on,
and on,
and on,
until we're broke,
still tired of the ugly
goddamned scene.

a brood of feelings
gaping
regurgitated hope
preying

we live to float
on wings of stone
rolling back the years
of evolution

Then again,
we also live to wake up
in the morning,
quietly smoke our cigarette,
and get out of bed long enough
to realize that it's still rather late.

Too late?

Maybe so.

Either way,
I don't think either one of us
is aware of the point anymore.

Revolution?

I doubt it slightly

a rite of passage
imprinted
as free as birds
entwined

we leave tomorrow
flightless
clutching at the straws
of involution

Of course,
I think we left years ago.

With broken hearts,
a bad sense of time,
alcoholic wisdom,
crazy ideas about philosophy,
an assortment of awful films,
with awful subtitles,
and awful actors.

I don't think we ever looked back either.

But what do I know, baby?
I'm just the one who kicks at this ground,
completely surrounded,
until I can't feel my legs anymore.

You're the one who can spell firearm.

The one with something to prove,
this time around.

03/04/2005

Author's Note: A Gabriel Ricard/Laura Doom reproduction. Delayed gratification, but worth every fragrant cent. A pleasure to work with the inimitable Gabe - I suggest you peruse his monthly acts of prosody...but don't play near the shower :>

Posted on 03/04/2005
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