FLIGHTLESS BIRDS

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A poem by Stephen McAuliffe

 

They tell us we’re little more than clockwork meat-machines

And consciousness is just a pre-packed survival tool

But I disagree

I believe

With my night-time aspect

(That is the part of me that dreams and surrenders gratefully to those dreams)

That we are in point of fact

Flightless birds

And our wing-spans

One day will brush the

Very curvatures of space.

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