Penguins Don't Fly in Their Dreams(They Transcend) This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

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I dreamt I was a penguin
flying alongside sparrows
as they tickled my toes
they reminded me of the density of my marrow that began to betray my wings
things started to fall fast like lonely hearts or empty beds

empty heads filled the air like clutter in an anti-gravity tank
falling too slow to realize the reality of our particular hemisphere

oh, dear how queer to be in the company of angels
how fearful to be amidst so many strangers with so many fallacies

thinking of home like it wasn't a cold place, like purple lips and pale eyes weren't in stock on the shelves where I came from; like refrigerated catacombs we sleep, even when we are awake, quake even when our bodies cease to shake, where our wills break, even when we look to be holding up fine

so these sparrows guide me back down like gravity guides stones cast from skyscrapers, like On-star and sudden turns, Like Eric Foreman and Fez; "ah-burn", like suddenly instantaneous grief just isn't quite quick enough so they put on a loop reel playing over and over again against my eyelids of how hard I hit when I realized my own penguin-ness

but I'm tired of being reminded of that which I am, I know what I am
I am a penguin, I am a penguin, I am a penguin, I am not that which I lack, I am all that I have, I am all that I believe, I am a flightless bird with symbolically significant wings, I am a penguin





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