godspeed

from the tethered hawk i tell you, you can't stop time. slipping through the hourglass into the cloudy night the water is draining fast. one month approaches on the ravaged horizon as both the hawk and his captor have been run dry. it's a disfiguring situation when you deny a bird it's prey... you've been my target for the longest time but now i have been caged and weathered by the game.

                            i am not a box with a board and pieces but a wind thirsty traveller who is ripped in two. i have a broken wing and a captured soul, my eyes are fierce with greed and gold. this is[?] just a skirmish, in the war on a three cornered point with the enlightened adored. though i have but one wing, i still have my talons and beak [i am not one for stalemates, truces, or treaties]. i'll take up arms to your disposition as it follows the temperature's days, feeding your captive or leaving it grey. 

 a queen, no longer bound by the noose of a title. stab me in the neck, i am a traveller! [and i will do just that]

      i am a mirror to look at and remind yourself of how unkempt and spent you are. you are a beautiful liar. i can't stand in the hay while you burn it. a doctor once told me that you cannot halfway amputate a limb when it's all you've ever known. i love you but you must forget me, i am alone. 

 

i crowned the king the other day, and he smiled at me as gracious as ever.

but i'll tell you, every king has his side that no one sees. it's ten o'clock leaving my seconds dry. it's ten o'clock and i'm shaking my head and the hand of a stranger.

but you know, every head has the hand of another, if forgave or forgotten. 

it's nice sometimes to stick your feet in the freezing cold. you feel alive, you know?

but i must warn you, you'll catch a cold if you stay out too long. you'll be sick and lost to the world around you. today is the day i started breathing! i left yesterday and i miss home. truthfully i've never felt so homeless in my entire life- cars are overrated.

i crowned the king the other day and i told him. i love the cold.

i've woven figment into fabric.

[ it's originating from my chest,  on all fours it approaches my brain            case, tickling my throat and nose during procession. ]

i've never felt like such a child as the firing line shot straight to my eyes.

         jesus excuses you kind sir!

                                                    to be such a groundless hog on a spit of landless sea is dripping in celestial flavor. i'm elated, euphoric, observant and lost in the under passing burrow. blowing low with the swiftly nimbly numb, human behavior can be categorized with convenience.

"hence, shall we roll?we are within a spitting distance!already?fuck!"

 

 to cosignatory infatuation i give my regards on this day we live en route; to gaiety and merriment i give my acquired taste for the wind; and for the wistful migrant my contemplative sorrows, misgivings, and a hawk. but you... you are saccharine. you have yet to be crowned with my cardiovascular king.                       on, holiday!

encased.

when i awake i'll be blind? i'll lay here encased shaping clouds.. in my mind (in my mind, in my mind...). 
in my mind i sit collecting not thoughts, but an earnest desire to stay in this home i've replaced with reason. i've missed these stairs so much to the point where i've tripped at least eight times since i've arrived. restless pacing on tranquil flooring should become a thing of the past- but in turn.. i can see the grey area as clear as the the whites of my eyes in the crystalline pool at my feet. it's drowning me, i am conscious, i am sinking. i cannot feel my fingertips underwater, so how am i expected to?

.

dear, "god" i've been going ninety-five to nothing. when i brake (s)he escapes with every second [it's too fucking cold, the heater is on but the window is down.] repeating, i must not, for i have my own comfortable arm to rest my head upon when i am caught up [or leaving]

fortify.

as he drives he sees and perceives the lines, but can't yet accept the rhythm of the highway life. [having never been] such a flightless bird, recounting in the jetstream as the chill and the brunt slaps with the wake of reconciliation. sometimes while in arms the thought of those lawyers [you remind me of a lawyer, and i hate lawyers.] is persistent enough to force the frigid air into the seams of his jacket, coating and dripping to lose. the car's burning.