machine of sin.

this evanescent skeleton will dance

with a bottle of hardened gin

burn through life with the operation of

thundering together a machine of sin.

and it says,

"steady on, stilted blackbird, when 

all you do is fuse a hand to the safety

of the still harbor, but bloom on the bend

of this misnomer and you will crash in. 

you'll never experience the liquid swim 

of moving through waves, free of chains.
instead rustle in your gilded cage and complain
of clipped and tattered and tarred wings.

"and maybe one day my bones will

rattle in a jar, soaked and seeped in regret
but at least they have moved, so still,
your stagnant wings, you are caught.

"for now i will let life echo its call

and drive too fast without fear of a fall

dance through the cast shadows with 

other lost and lonely's, hoping to find

myself in the blue smoke and mist

with a sliver of knowledge that yields

the answer to the questions in me.
in time, and poise and maturity, you'll
realize, that perhaps you should've let me be
and kept your long static scorn
tucked in your wings like unwanted thorns."