& this is where I find myself -
Running like a wildfire through the fields of unshielded
apologies. I have little care in leaving the remains littered
on the kitchen floor.
I sound like silence, if silence were to have a voice
entirely of its own...
Yet somewhere, in the space between my finger
prints and the slight shimmer of day break,
I watch myself spread my arms out across
another boys back and pretend that their wings
are simply the shape my hands make when
I think about closeness.
This goes to say that sometimes, I am left like
a misheard messiah not quite worthy of worship,
that my loneliness resembles wanting, and wanting
Never fails to fail so destructively...
Yet still, in the fields of unshielded apologies
I blaze through them like a fighter jet
flying far too low over NYC.
Which goes to say I aim forever towards the skyscraper
of my father's absence, as the memory of
him quietly slips into an orange dress –
So this is how we always continue -
with my father's shadow wrapping its weight around
my shoulders as I teach him
how to walk....
Now I only need to continue, to melt into a
sudden leakage of light and drip
further and further
into the eyes of his new born daughter.
Until there is just enough of me to make my father flinch,
as his soul tumbles from
the burning buildings
YOU ARE READING
Vultures And Other Vulnerabilities.
Poetry"I hope it gives you the same satisfaction as finishing a really good book, Or kissing someone, and not walk away feeling like they have taken something from you."
