i have known
emptiness and little else: the empty
palm, the empty
heart, the empty
hearth. i have known some
bird
not yet ready to force its way from its
shell, laying in the dirt featherless and
feckless. i have been that little
bird, shivering in the
dirt, no nest to
speak
of. i cannot say if i have a
name or a
point or anything at
all, i have known nothing and
nothing and
nobody. i have not yet known /
myself, or the fires i
must have come from or the soft,
sweet taste that comes with knowing
you are
alive, certainly i am alive
certainly i am
certainly i am not
nothing or
nobody or
empty but still i lay in the grass,
premature or pathetic. still i lay in the
dirt with ants crawling on my
body with no
body at all i have no physical form i want no physical
form i want to exist as nothing at all and finally my hands will be wings and my skin will be feathered like i am
sitting on a boat in the ocean, waves rocking and
rocking.
