Birdie

the awe of her existence 

puts pressure in my chest 

air in my tires

where to do, what to go

this life is not a real life 

if it where a real life 

I would be told 

where to do and what to go

piddle-paddle

there are no regrets

decisions are not un-decided

there is only The -  

perpetual motion of moving forward

A - zigzag line that loops and twirls 

in the crisp air of spring

are the starlings angry

or joyful

… in the crisp air of spring

their chirp protrudes 

amidst the awareness of aching bones

my heart beats slow

shallow breathing laborious 

another precipice looming

since November

it’s in my bones; toes first -

months of little blue piggies 

no sock nor wiggle working;

now that my toes are warm-ish

it’s migrated to my knees,

nose, elbows; daily hot bathing 

huddling near the heater space 

a momentary reprieve;

I didn’t sign up for this…

this being cold since November 

huh…oops

twenty-4 years later an’ I’m still sittin’ in a drawer with the odd things that I had planned to use or fix some day, gettin’ tangled in my own cord