I know what it’s like
to be up so early you
call the birds out
for laziness.
How dare they not live up
to their stereotypes?
I thought we had a deal
here: they arouse me
with loud joy, I rise
smiling. They are
better as metaphors
than as role models. In fact
“eating like a bird” makes
no sense either if you’ve
ever seen them eat. So:
here’s to metaphors, to
the musical, abstemious
birds of our stories. I know
too well what it’s like
to have mistaken what is myth
for what is real. I know
that there’s little joy
in some mornings,
that gluttony is
the law of the land;
that some birdsong
is less a call to love
than to war.
Tag Archives: poesm
Bird Songs
Performative Allyship In The Days Of Revolt: A Treatise
Look at me
longing to flip tables,
pile and burn them
in front of temples
and banks. Look at me
dreaming.
Look at me
with the words on my lips:
resist, disengage, revolt,
fight back. Look at me
pretending I’m an undeclared
war inside; look at me
dreaming
with whetstone
and oil and
blade; look at me
pronouncing the old word,
“guerilla,” rolling it on
my lips as if I know
anything, anything at all
beyond wild dreams.
Look at me.
Maybe
the operative phrase here
is “look at me.”
Maybe
all I want is a stage and
a moment where I get to say
“pinch me, is this real
or am I still dreaming
revolutionary dreams?” to
an audience and have them
come up on stage and pinch me
in lieu of taking a stab
or a bullet wound. We all get to
take part.
My dreaming of
righteous fury? That’s
my honored part. You looking at me
as I do it? That’s
your glorious part.
Dark Matter 