Thursday, 1 October 2009

fire birds

still i spit spite from time to time,
but remain curious
about souls and soles
fire walk blackened.

earth, stay firm and hold my weight.
glass, more often than not,
shatters in my hands.

i want to devour the sky
and eat the dirt on my grave.
flowers and thorns
growing tangled around ribs
offered to those
following their heart home.

dwelling upon these rooftops i wonder
who raises their gaze and sees
with the right kind of eyes.

and you, you should read my lips
when i tell you that mostly wings
aren't made from wax or feathers.
rather, other things
less solid
but just as real.


Red Bird said...

So glad to join you here!
When it's not so late, I'll be reading your poems... ;)- almost off to bed now but I'll be back!

Timo said...
This comment has been removed by the author.