Stuck in First
Spiders do an amazing thing
Connect the corners, edges.
An unwalkable bridge
There by its own stickiness.
What if other things were spider webbish
A car, the floor, my back.
Lock me in and hurl me against time.
People do so many things and try so hard at them.
Me, I’m sitting at a bus stop
Trying to think of the right way to talk about the way trees by the highway shudder, you wonder if it’s windy, if you are outside.
I want to roll down a hill and finish with clumps of grass in my hands, which I will unfurl uncomfortably, “Nice!” Feels good, and rot at the same rate as the grass I just killed.
I realized true beauty is attainable by releasing the clench of jaw and hard shoulder curve. If I keep practicing, I can be like a puddle or a blanket.
I’m not really a phoenix, hawk, or eagle. I’m just a lark, floating, hoping to catch lightness under my wings.
