how much courage does it take to
surrender to gravity?
for a moment, at least, you are
above it all,
a high wind whipping
your greasy hair
and pizza stained shirt.
your struggle for existence-versus-fear is
witnessed only by the fat pigeons that roost
on these roof tops, and unlike the men
with their tasteless ties, and the women
with their cheap perfume
on the street below
who think you're so far
beneath them,
the birds see you not as a
foregone conclusion (alcoholic depressed
unemployed poet dreamer suicide)
but as a greater god who might
drop french fry crumbs
or even a mc-chicken nugget
in offering.
(pigeons these days have all turned to cannibalism)
how much courage does it take to
fall,
when a vivid imagination
has provided you with the means to see
your wingless bones shatter,
and your head exploding into a
bright halo of blood and brain matter
as it hits the concrete
below.
how much courage does it take to die,
when even in your last breath
you know you have done nothing
that hasn't been done a thousand times
before?
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