Wide-eyed, my lips recall
a thirst: I open its bud
no word—
better we jump-up than speak
better tongues be wingless and wait
invisible in their cages
better we learn this language of street
the chip chip chip away at asphalt
to the plenke-plenke metallic
sound of the steel gut’s drumming
find me unmasked, flora
gyrating astonishment
in the mass
if you touch me
let my green stems
dance in a wind
instrument’s trance
We are birds
of paradise, long
as the music lasts
mek we whine and whine
and whine
we now suppose we free
we now believe we fly