Moveable / Feast
When a martyr
loses her head over what she loves
future people hold a festival in her honor.
Air’s exactly similar to itself
I said, not speaking as a scientist.
Audubon had his regrets: he shot and killed
every bird he painted. What I want
won’t hold still / what I admire
is ability to blur. A head upon a pike
withstands / birds are perfectly
thoughtless about where they eat and shit.
I want to exhale a little while
in the future: when daisies pied and violets blue:
truth can’t hurt me any more.