a pet bird caught in a jet-stream, that's me

you're a big kid. you'll be ok.
without me, i mean,
that's not what i want.
to say
i want you here and ready and barrier-free
i want you to lose yourself in me
i want you

so there it is. i want you, and you need to change.
and when with me it is harder for you to.
but you must.


the nature of the beast is to dig, the earth is soft and ready. the nature of the beast is to fight, not take flight. you are not a bird, now.
your mind twists and turns into itself. long loops locking
until the grave chain cuts into your flesh. your muscle and bone.
only skin
separates
but further and further until even my longest arms aren't long enough
and my eyes grow tired trying to look so far
what with the rift mist

and the lifted fist
don't beckon, i am estranged.

and yet i have this insatiable urge to stay firmly-footed,
ankle-deep and dirt-covered
just dig myself in, the beast is burning up
and from the inside out i still do love you and you have to believe that but you have to
you have to
'cause i can't -
don't let me get stuck here as tree amongst forests.


i often forget just how precarious these cliffs can be
just sheer stone and the water, crashing and rolling all unfathomable depths and salty shadows
it's not unlikely, and my love that is not what i want

i want you
with your hands open even if broken
i have the splint and you have the twine. we can bind
them back and my skin will crack like bark so what is the point in getting root-footed?
there is more point in getting split open
i have the axe if you have the swing, you can show them
you can show them


i spent a lifetime looking through the year just gone.
and so i hear it only gets faster from this point onwards, so good luck, lady. you're in for it now.
they'll pile up thick and fast, and before you know it you've broken the donkey's back and your books are in the mud. so are your feet. they've been there so long your knees are growing branches. chapter after chapter smothered. words snugly sentence settled under the cover of dirt-night, as if never born.
these things are precious to me. perhaps it is why i hoard.
the thought of losing them is like
is like
when you are diving out of your depth and your chest constricts like your heart is under so much pressure it can't even beat for fear of implosion
or like
just before you wake from a nightmare of falling and falling and you are about to hit the ground and it is so, so very real yet you try to wake yourself and instead you find your physical self has stopped breathing - how long for now? when will it end? will i wake up again?

and you give yourself over with total abandon, just to keep it all between your ears & hands.
i wonder if you know that feeling?




show them.
show me. show yourself.

i can't think of any other way to save this, so please.