today is a lovely summer's day.
i stand before a sundial, shadow
right ahead of my zodiac-
the wildfire eating a zebra,
only to revert back to a quiet candle flame,
swallowing and swallowing only
after a small alarm has awakened me-
my hunger, my hunger, it is so angry-
quite introverted, quite intuitive, all the stuff
which comes without much give
as if the very building blocks
of a DNA strand,
the sundial decides
this is who i am.
perhaps i am just that.
i must claim this brand.
i stand stretched widely, the wind
measuring my wing span,
a bird of paradise, one that rises and rises
separated from a mother far too
early in infantry
as i was bought by a newlywed couple,
only to stain up their home, yelled at
i did squawk an awful lot.
not saying much, just stretching my voice
as long as my wing span,
as long as i could hear it.
i felt i was in the clear, as long
as i could make my voice happen.
set free, to the beach, like a violent child
to the streets, i roam alone.
the seagulls overhead
bob about like loose balloons
dangerous for the environment.
on a scavenging hunt,
they themselves also roam.
it is what they know.
they scratch the eyeball of tippi hedren
to loosen the grip of her freshly
to drop a fat hot dog
in its white-flour bun
merry and plump with ketchup.
like tippi hedren,
it is not my eye that matters,
nor is it the hot dog.
it is my story.
i save it for later.
i preserve it for a time
when i am sure i know
it is not a make-believe tale.
for if nobody is to believe me, their beliefs
will not influence my feelings
toward my own.
i am something to do with wildfire.
i am the unknown bird birthed
from that fire
captured once in national geographic
now marking my brains out
on this sundial.
this is my land, for i say so.
it is what i know.
it is what i have.
i thought i'd make sure you know.