Freedom Singing to Itself

Freedom is razor-sharp

the curved blade that cuts

the head off my neck

& lets the heart blood spout

fountain like

freedom is tender

            with my arms around you

as if they were feathers

            for the wool before my eyes

I cannot see one separate thing

freedom is boring

            going to the toilet

to shit & piss

            every morning looking in the mirror

probing for pimples on the nose

freedom is fire

            I hammer the blazing steel of the thoughts

that shackle everything

            only to have the acid of fear corrode

all that I ever grabbed & held

           

freedom is delicate

the dewdrop that falls
from the leaf above

            makes the web tremble

& the spider rope down further

             

freedom is despair

            no food on the table

with all the good people in chains

            while our leaders spit roast our hearts

to assuage their own fear of lack

freedom is desire

never getting

enough of it

when everything

is always there

freedom is sentimental

            my tears soak your pillow salty

of my being so very special

            as my is head remains stuck

I cannot explore the great blue yonder

freedom is straight & narrow

            deadlines 

timelines

fault lines –

            to bring about many a cleansing disaster

freedom is simply free

            no quality but its own

& there is stillness

            leaves burgeoning in spring

tumble to rot in november

essentially

even stupor is freedom

so is clinging

& so is hate

 knowing thus definitely freedom is

naturally self-affirming

projecting more of gossamer

subtly tremulous presence

I can drink my tea

I can sip my wine

every once in a while

I can look up in the sky

the thought doesn’t even arise

that anyone will ever not partake

in this heart of freedom

forever beating

the only question remains

does appreciation really require

some self mirroring voice

to sell freedom as more special than what is