you won't be sad

cigarettes, alcohol, the rising skyline of my humble city. this isn't about those things, they've been said already. i mine memory for it's blessedly flawed interpretations and the present for unabashed expression. but today is about fresh lungs, uncertainty, and opportune shadows. right now through the crooked window, there's an entire flock, circling, where there's usually only this one massive seagull, above a trash dumpster where i catch my breath. and these birds, they're riding the delicate changes of the wind, sort of like i did last night in my dreams. and it was almost casual, my realization across the waking line this morning, that my arms aren't capable of flight anymore. but they are, i am, thinking there is no vacation from the brain, tropical beaches, hollywood nightclubs, opium dens, it's a blessed constant while it functions and catalyzes for meaning. and this jovial guy named nestor told me never to trust a skinny chef and the same can be said for casual fingers on a wordsmith or serenity on the face of a beast.