Poetry

 
I fly to win
complacency by the unhealthy for your Sunday
galleys full of innocence in black and white
from the slits of my cell walking
I can contemplate your savings to live
not believe you're unable to smile
I fly for a living
between the moths of August
they simply run away from the light
looking for the shadow
I flee to smile
against white plaster walls
who insist on drawing my favorite boards
with a single word
"back to us"
I fly to win
what I wear in like a grail of fire
phoenix and the martyrdom of my fingers
complacent incite revolution
for a desire