Poems for the End of the World: When I Am Free

Assume there was never a plan for my freedom
I hold my hands out, open palmed,
snap off each finger and say:
Here. Eat.
Laugh, fear brings out the mob in people.
An unsheathed ear.
An unleashed fear.
An opening, unveiled mirror.

I’m not claiming to be any type of Messiah.
Who knows loneliness better than a free-drawn clear breath?
I shatter whole buildings that would have me bend to enter
and imagine myself free:
An arrow with wings
who shot herself
into the sky,
piercing and open,
a radical act of love for air
and night and blue and speed.

What is freedom but a devotion to opening?
A madness unconfined?
A clear note played long and wet?
A soft landing in soft black soil?
The kiss of a honeybee?

When I am free
(and here I sing ooooo and leap into a holy ghost dance)
When I am free
(and here even the angels laugh with me in my delight)
When I am free
honey, you have never heard such a hallelujah,
nectar never tasted so sweet.

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