Birdland

Not as substantial as I could have been,
I had become a trace element in a linguistic storm,
donning a crooked smile that could no longer conceal
the process of my wasting away-

So, swords for hands,
I cut a piece of time from out of the dying night,
and letting it fall, I watched it drift into the distance,
realizing that in its place, some kind of opening had remained-

Stepping through,
I slipped down and away;
though in falling I felt no fear,
for the earth, well,
she seemed to disappear-

and I now, a part of the sky eternal,
found I could fly,
and I, so blissfully alone,
at once embraced
my passion for nothing-

and thus with wings unleashed,
I moved effortlessly through this new dawn,
carried on waves of pure sound,
towards no particular destination;
a phoenix, had I become.