by James Galvin
A stumblebum in scree.
A hummingbird with internal bleeding.
A desert windmill churning out
Its painful water,
Gurgling like, like, like.
This must be the pursuit of happiness,
Which is no one's right.
A game the heart plays hurting.
A butterfly with sore feet.
The windowstunned bird willing
To batter itself further
For its birthright the air.
Someone reciting an original poem
With his throat cut.
from Elements
A stumblebum in scree.
A hummingbird with internal bleeding.
A desert windmill churning out
Its painful water,
Gurgling like, like, like.
This must be the pursuit of happiness,
Which is no one's right.
A game the heart plays hurting.
A butterfly with sore feet.
The windowstunned bird willing
To batter itself further
For its birthright the air.
Someone reciting an original poem
With his throat cut.
from Elements
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