The sensation returns of bones flying off By J. Freeborn

The sensation returns of bones flying off

The sensation returns, of bones flying off
the handle, joints rubberized and fading

the heartbeat of a helicopter banking south
interrupts the mourning doves at 6. I am maybe

awake I remember being drunk at readings
where everything I heard was a way to

a future illuminated like digital streets peeking
up beneath David Hockney’s window

luminescent in unreal strokes.
The future now is a twin horizon that never

gets nearer, of living too long uninterested
like my grandmother, unable to read

because of anxiety; because you never
get a personality when you live for others

because now all those others are dead.

The alternative is obligations
unfulfilled and still not knowing if

what I feel is love not anger asleep in
desire; a stone in the stomach of a wolf.

By J. Freeborn


J. Freeborn is a genderqueer high school teacher in New York.

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