You were a friend to me, like the malignant swelling of your skin -just around the jaw.
And in the abscess of my memories: withered leaves dropping with swift-wind-swings.
(little wings)
Chasing the birds, your claws outstretched -i in the corner, pulling a string,
catching your attention with my woodsman alias. i set the rope aflame
just as you motioned towards it, knowing that i could never live with the
reality of you trapped inside, dangling and discouraged, those eyes, glimmering.
And under the leaves shifts the dry desert clay, blownback, lifting towards
an ever-changed constellated night. Choose wisely. Many have toured the sky.
You were a friend to me, a satellite of pillared future histories, and yet your life,
a microcosm in cost-benefit-analysis, a dried, mundane Thursday afternoon
swimming in the sunlight of my American-blinded room -those unhappy
rectangles of ultraviolet and your sprawling body under them, is worthwhile.
