as though,
we had fallen into a cooler hell, each carrying our own sufferings. and suffering we waited for anything to befall us. and then was descended a softened god, worn silky with time and longing. and sang a song softly at first and lured us closer with the lullaby for which we'd waited. and achingly he sand faster, and hard, and we could not back away from his voice, his violin. so we let ourselves be drawn towards him, and downy wings be drawn from our shoulders. and we began to bat them slowly, to test their strength and their dryness. and our chests became swollen with the sounds and hardened. and the night tried to close in against us, tried to shut us away from the noise and each other. so we beat our wings, hammered them down against all the outside pushing in, hammered out with the all the force in our tightened sternums, beat them against soundlessness and the night.
the woods were filled with the muted sound of our fluttering.
and we broke from them, the woods. moving softly, as fast as we could. none of our violences could make us larger. nor our speed. and when we reached the city, we clustered uselessly around the brightest parts, searching the center. full of love and greed. one by one, we beat ourselves senseless or burned away
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