Extended Technique

My stock

migrant flock

First generation who didn't fly home for winter

This kid was born in spring

In the era of

corduroys and olivetti

corn beef keys and paisley patterns

on the peabody block

top floor corner door

I was cloud high in dreams but heavy in the air

graceless and tumbling

I wake flailing on the bedroom floor

halfway out my pyjamas

on summer days

small and all possibility and potential

in my coat pockets

hands flipping the folds into wings

I scaled trees and nestled in their wisdoms

heard whispers in my ear

first learn to play the flow of air

I lept

and landing a soundless soft compress

I fell on my feathers

young though not naïve to the doubting ways of man

I told few and answered none when I flew

lest their shock suck wind

from under this buoyant boy

still suttin got me clipped

cos all I know is that

for years now

I have been falling onto bones

friends who could scarcely imagine me walking

now shudder at the thud of my body

lift me off my knees

keep dusting me down

in this photo see a young me

back when I had my wings

see my feet keen to tuck under as I lept to flee to fly

it is proof

I was a dreamer not dreaming