Wings must be an awful thing
leather & cord & bastard ambre
or isoflurane blue
It’s not like there are jackets
for that sort of thing
To conceal buoyancy?
To keep flight a secret?
They must grow heavy over time
like long hair, wet with shampoo
tipping your chin up
like a pendulum
swinging towards
Would I do it?
Could I fly?
Afraid of heights, but not of falling
Falling, I’ve done.
Fear, I’ve known.
& heights…
That’s just perspective, isn’t it.


One thought on “Tick.

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