fail me not, jungle lungs

August 1, 2010

we are on the precipice.
my words are never enough
but if i surrender them
perhaps they’ll breathe the
same thick, hot air i suck in.
perhaps if i leave them
alone, their hollow forms
will expand beyond my
constricted heart, which beats at
a volume for lupine ears.
the bird inside my chest
drums inside its tiny breast.
he is only able to lift his head,
for his wings have surrendered
to words. o words, fail us not,
fill your sail with my soul and
take from me what i give wrongly to
many unworthy of exaltation.

‘there’s a bend in my beak’
can you hear its little words
in the wind, willed into the world
on the wings of an impartial gust?

do these words dare to
undermine gifts i saved
to pour upon my paramour?
she, the paramount
Holds eros inside
and grants no rest unless
in surrender.

Shall i build you a monument
for the deeds you’ve done
Or shall i cast off my letters
and try at being a person
In love and not in love?

quietly in the morrow
these words will march on.
now at once we know
the same disparity.


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