Escape is a cage

Escape is a cage, but only a tiny one;
the sound of a horn that warns of nothing,
bleating its own indifference —

and out I fly, for the hinge between ribs
has broken, and my wings scatter
seeds to the floor.

Give me an ocean;
a basement;

the last blind expedient;
a subway’s flash and roar;
fists against glass;

mountains lost in love;

strange disciples;

the gallows;

a puppy from my childhood.

Between pillars that keep the sky from falling,
sense is dead on the step —

as if someone says, “Mom! Birdie is gone!”

and I wish how I wish, how I wish how I wish

to be back in.


Update:
“Escape is a cage” added to Poems, Slightly Used.