In Situ

My blinds are down and
knocking with the
wind blowing in the
open window  - outside
to my mind the white stars
beckon but I pay them
no heed - I am a golden
bird and blue, caged and
silent, my notes are
dry, wings choked, rusty,
will not fly. I watch  -
day-in-day-gone, the
people pass my bars, they
do not look up, look
down, intent upon their
wares.  So I sit,
perched and tight
on my peg
and dream of a likeness
in the air that can
soar free, unfettered,
uncaged, pure being buoyed
by a rising wind.
Tight, tight is my skin
my metal frame, the mind
wandering in and out of
past places, fingering
hopes like coins then
putting them down and
coming to - to people
passing to-and-fro, these
bars, this cage, my
metal stasis soldered
bold and blue. There are
different ways to fly through.
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