floating and leaving no trace
a het up ape
in a t-shirt
swinging a hammer
i break everything
that drifts into
my orbit
i say this is art
but is it art
do animals make art?
what about termites with
their giant rippling mounds?
now that’s la sagrada familia
what was so bad about
living in the trees
what called us down
into the tall grasses
of the savannah?
the sun puts an ache in
my teeth and the taste
of burning ants on
my tongue
my hammer will not ring
no anvil to fall on
no metal to forge
no sword to fashion
for any hero’s hand
the crucible does not
overflow with molten metal
no sparks
no ashes
so soot covered skin
or sweat covered brow
no bronze to cast
or chase
no shapes to shape
it is said
that when all you have is a hammer
everything looks like a nail
but sometimes
even the nails are absent
and the hammer
is a cold stillborn thing
in your hand
Words and Feathers 