River.

Kindred Words

I’ve got this thing,
attached to the feathers
of my tattered, right wing;
it’s tickling and itching…
and causing me to careen;
through the air,
in disrepair;
with everybody down there
watching.
I’ve got this weight,
that drags my feet
in reverse, towards my fate;
it’s beaconing and ordering…
that I bow down, and subjugate;
kiss the toes,
belonging to those;
who refuse to let me go
be free.
I’ve got these eyes,
tuned to a frequency
that perfectly filter the lies;
barreling and swooping…
along, at their’ sides;
so invisibly,
nobody else knows
but I see.
I’ve got this shrapnel splinter,
burrowed deeply into my skin
through summer, spring, fall and winter;
humbling, reminding…
all it takes to make a slice, is a sliver;
moon hanging,
right above the river
bleeding all over me.

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