of an animal mind

inside our animal bodies

there is a tumbling fire:

it roves our skinwalls

like a lighthouse,

it creeps across us

in waves of tingling

it accumulates in the folds

of our darker parts


this is why we will never

be separate from them: i

have always felt this heat,

and seen it in every feral

eye i found: we are all

wild. our jowls fill with

purpose. we know the rules

of the hunt: kill or give

yourself to the light.

the blood in your teeth

is the trophy of your

own trembling existence.


i like glinting in the brake:

i am in wait.

the darkness and the light

hum in unison inside me,

they are binary and seethe

with equal fervor: i am free.


a motion

you give your eager motion

to the salty requirement

of being alive: it is a


terrible dance we all hate

the steps of. there is no

thing so impossible, to you,


as the inaccurate roundness

of the moon. the way she

balloons makes you believe


in the candor of science.

i calculated the apex of your

natural life and you were


disappointed. surely not

so long to wait! the light

grows tiresome and i am


late for the party. the clouds

are moving now: they shuffle

together like a deck


of cards.


the tincture will not reverse the feathers

my lungs are full of feathers

&when i inhale i begin to flutter

everso upwards, the light thickening

on my tongue like a syrup:


i am becoming a bird from the inside out!

there is a tincture that coats me like a nightgown:

they have given it to me to reverse this process.


but i feel hollow quills growing

in my throat: my teeth elongate everso

unnoticeably and harden towards a beak.

in the places i used to feel sexual now

i feel only the throb of coming spring.


and sky, o sky! you are mine and i am yours

and soon we will rub our bodies together and

we will taste the salt of each other and crash

like waves into each other as long as we live.


my bones are emptying of marrow.

now there are the hollow spaces

in to which i stuff wild tufts of air

&my fingers grow too long and thin

to do human work.


David Courtright is a young poet & musician from Atlanta. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Marco Polo Quarterly, Barrier Islands Review, and The Sun Magazine.

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