It’s a draft. I throw caution to the wind on this one, whatever that means …“Broken Wings” by Jose Vilson

Grounded
No lift while G_d sweeps the air from under me
I am the celestial being no more
My tarnished feathers scatter in the distance
Shattered bones clank down the empty stairwell
Where once I had arisen
Who will save me?
Does heaven not look kindly on his own parallel?
Born asunder
Lifted from his tyranny
Stricken down mightily by the hands that raise me
Depress me of my juices until I become a much sweeter and drier fruit for you
Squeeze until my skin can’t take it anymore
I will scream
I will kick
I will cry in anguish
The suns and moons will play with each other thrice
In the midst of constant denial and negativity
My eyes dilate
Concentrate
on a sliver of light, and hone in so strongly
It leaves an engraved passage in my retinae
The secret to growing my wings back
The whispers not found in the parchments selling long life and
the plethora of northern lights in the form of the heavenly bodies
I once was
From where the wind itself dumped me into the firmest of soil
Crawled in the dirt
To look into the water from whence I came and will return to
Read the message left there
In the most discernible letters possible
It said everything I needed to know
My humility restored
My purpose remembered
Ever strong from the pain endured
My skin aglow and my will intravenously regenerated
I am injected with the new day’s power
I spoke with a more enlightened tongue
Through my sullied t-shirt
The wings grew anew …

jose, who hasn’t written a sex poem in a good month and a 1/2 …