she told me to stop writing fuck you poetry
and maybe to focus on the world
i shrugged
and said
inside my head:

the world needs me to go
tell it to fuck itself
for me to feel
free from it

the pigeons circle and loop
around the city park
on a late december afternoon
swooping in tight arcs
terrorizing the tourists
who run to duck and cover
this is their park
they even have an
old asian man to feed them

we slump on our bench together
the one i picked out
last spring on the corner
of the inner circle
and we gaze at this flight pattern
planned to dive bomb
anyone in their way

i want to tell you how nice
it feels to finally be free
in a way i haven’t been since
i moved to the desert
in the first place

all of these items are so
personal and i can’t even
wirte objectively
i’m not in that place
but i will be again soon

which is why i need this now
to tell the world to fuck itself
like the pigeons in the park

img title: Queen, 1968, Paris. Jean Muir - Helmut Newton via sunday morning which is a cool blog despite the morrisey reference.