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September 15, 2017 Poetry


ash adams

Murmuration photo

Before roosting in the city, starlings dive—
five thousand deep in flock. Like cells they follow the
law of localization. Bound by surroundings. Step into a

crowded elevator and take on the expression of
those around you. We are all rehearsing something.

Every Sunday I follow my hunger to the grocery store. My
partner rinses the vegetable drawer clean of last week. Did you know
the spread of aggression can be charted like a yacht or like

an infectious disease? We are all consumed by something. Once
I was a dancer and would spend days alone in a room lined

in mirrors mining rhythm from my limbs, as if
the only way to know my breath was to know what count the
tempo demanded. Can you imagine, truly spontaneous movement

performed en masse? The mass twists and inverts and leaps from
one end of sky to the other like freckles fading in and out
upon your skin across the seasons.

No two birds collide. 

image: Ian Amberson