sidelines. He sees the blue that has
become me. Bluebird that is me,
always, lost
in life.
Together we form green life,
sterile,
vibrant.
Blackbird, you perch so [sound] on
the other end of the telephone pole.
Thank you for making me feel
common. I so desperately needed
to feel common.
Sly, blackbird.
I'm not like the others.
I was born soulless,
so I'll never give
mine away because I
don't know if I have
one to give.
Bronte, whatever
Wuthering souls
are made of,
his yellow
and my blue one
are quite certainly
the same
vibrant
green.
No comments:
Post a Comment