what hides inside.
I gathered my guts and gave
them to the wind, wicked
as it's wont to be —
watched cecum sag
and small intestine trip
over unabsorbed
nutrients while the whole
mess was forced to feel
what flying is.
There are so many
birds asleep in us,
set to stir and wave
their winged wands
when the singing of
their siblings ceases.
Here, then, is something
that's sailed from my house
to yours: a medley of what
makes me brave enough to
go on breathing in the grim
face of fear, unbridled
and bereft of grace.