I can not sit, I am a prisoner of standing
up to see into the sky behind her eyes,
I am handless and footless and wanton mad
a billow of cloud screaming up her skirt,
the gods of air bark orders like dyslexics
to shackle me there in orange plaid pants
they tell me the truth about blindness until
i beg for them to rip off my ears and save me
from the crueler things – like words
there are no boys that drift without tongues
pass by without faces, that dream
beautiful things, like me.
I can not sit, I am a prisoner of freedom
up in the cool airless begging place beneath
the moon, i pillow and pillory the notions
of dogs on tall mountains howling
she pulls a shawl about her, i see the truth
about deafness, until she begs the wind
to save her from the crueler things
like life.
i snicker at her bodiful pleas
there are no girls that drift without tongues
pass by without hips, that imagine
beautiful things, like me.