Flight but Not Metaphor - Wreck and Reference

Back into resentment you went, through the glass house door.

The mind fills up

and absorbs, does away with waste in the wake of drift

We’re too damned sick yellow to ever leave then the drawbacks appear,

no other worlds, no sky.

Couldn’t bring in my drawings to share them with you

In the end, any particular feeling must die.

Its light sinks into decay and its

oceans lock in ice.

The direction of survival doesn’t matter.

Whichever hands

you hold, bones will sow what earth remains

I wish I could say the passage of time is our friend, from whirling temptations

fell outcomes of laughter, resentment, abuse

It made us so sick we couldn’t ever leave, except leave our bodies behind in an

orgy of defamation and booze

In the end, nothing profound ever came, the glitter of each others eyes drying

while we’re in the same room

Still meeting where mattresses caved, sheets like low hanging clouds.

Enjoying ephemeral freedom

One time I let go one hundred tiny birds, they fluttered a painting,

deserving flight but not metaphor