Not many people have mattered to me

it’s like they were birds

that landed and took-off.

Ugly ducklings become Swans

Sometimes Swans, get their heads cut off

or they grow old and grey.

Birds are lighter than the wind

They move through fate

like soaring angels

that transcend the earth

until their bones break

like Icarus

falling, from the sun.

I am the birdman

the crows are demons outside my window

landing in the pine trees

full of needles.

I collect feathers

and use them

to fly

but not far

Just to know, I can do it—

that I’m not, just a man.

When I walk into assisted living

I see my aunt

smiling in her bed

eating chocolates

and watching Bonanza.

She is a happy old bird

We talk about my trips to Europe and South America.

I went down to Mexico, myself,” she said.

“Was that with your husband?” My mother asked.

“Yes. I still have my dog. Flash is 500 years old.”

“Oh—”

I rather like my aunt. She’s full of stories.

When I flew back home

I watched a movie

about a writer

who drank himself to death.

He was a genius.

I can’t fly through fate, yet

So, I run along the beach

as fast as I can

trying to take-off.

The people who matter to me

fly close to the sun.

I want to join them.

It’s easy to believe, and next to impossible to fly

Jump off a barn, and you will probably break your leg

but

Most people never jump.

3 thoughts on “The Birdman

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