There's a list of things I should do,
and it spans a mile long.
A list of school applications,
schedules,
homework,
and such mindful occupations.

There's another list, and I keep it tucked away.
it's a list of things I feel,
things I want,
peeled from each and every night and day.
I don't talk about this list.

When I'm alone and the night is stark,
when the stars are bright,
the moon is full,
and my brain is shifting, anxious, dark--
Sometimes, then, my list rolls by.
My head wonders,
What would happen?

If I flattened the pedal until the car was a tin can,
shuttling around the earth.
Would I fly away?

At the middle of the bridge, closer to up or down,
than to either side,
if I fluttered down,
What would happen?
With the waterline smudging
into a tranquil sky,
it's so hard to picture any consequences.
Is my wondering not sound? 

It's so hard to be tethered, at sundown and past.
I feel myself always
drifting, drifting.
I tilt my head up to the stars,
and feel so bound to last.

It's so funny, don't you think?
That it's only after I found this place,
full of
Knotted stomachs, unfocused eyes, minds always a few seconds behind,
That I found my immortality.
Isn't it funny, that so many times a day
and so many times a night
I've lived?

As dawn breaks and sunlight hits me,
I'm a crowing, breathing lark
tethered tightly to the ground.
But by nightfall, very quickly,
my heart
beat
beat
beats
up.
And I sing.

Would it really be so bad if
one night
I just never drifted down?
What would happen?