flying away

The Quitter
for Andrew

When ears up in pricks
you lie your head down
like a filthy habit
and can find no rest
it’s time to listen
to the giant sucking sound
of tiny wings
to soften the blows
upon an art
hammered
to death

Oldly new
already full
already ready
overworked muscles
regain memory
by first letting go
then letting air in
as a snot-nosed child
following a mourning dove
begins
to sing

Half a glass
bitter
the other waiting sky
you’ve had your fill
until you’re dry
swollen
in the gap
forever opening
you narrowly find
to quit
is a beginning

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