We are flightless birds incapable of migration.

Survival by resetting our patterns. Sprinting serpentine from potential snipers, or being sure no to be followed. Wings are rich parents with extra bedrooms.  Calling to their brood to return. “Maybe grad school when this blows over. You can even take online classes in the meantime.”  In the meantime, my neighbor’s bodies are being pulled out of their homes. Too much television because there is too much time, and I haven’t the mental currency for anything else. The glowing box is some how denying my reality  offering me no escapism, and adding amperage to my anxiety. Like flightless birds we weather, bracing against the wind, and seemingly endless winter. Never have I been more anchored to this place.

Birds, acrylic, PVA, leaf  on vinyl pool toys

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