::03:18:08::

::: 32: Run Into Low Flying Birds :::

I wanted to say, “I run into flowers,” but that has all changed. Or to begin with: “The mountains of The Hudson River Valley cascading,” yet how many f*cking poems start with that, on the page or in the head, sh*t sliding down the mountain. Pop.

When you seek new underwear, now that is exciting, because of the thought of you and surf, Jersey sand and sea shells or
Just possibly because you suffer the butterflies
Of something new? Me too?

I want to crash into you like low flying birds, nothing evil, just embarrassing
In a pixie pirate kind of way? Awkward Bettie Page?
I am a f*cking Dork.

Why mention such moments of beautiful embarrassment?
Possibilities explode into being when, I imagine, you inevitably spill your coffee
Not twice but every morning.

You’re a dork, but I wanted to say,

I run into flowers.

Written by: ~ J.D. Szalla

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