Spindle-legged spider-bat,
Crouched by the heater,
Miserably damp, quivering
Gratefully in its warm breath--your paisley
Patterning camouflages you well
Among the coats and wispy
Scarves in the closet, but leaves you
Conspicuous against the hardwood floor.
You seem to be aware of your visibility,
Huddled tense with chariness,
Prepared to scuttle away
Each time my feet tread near you in the hall
You seem all skeleton--noduled knuckle joints,
Long bony fingers--
And taut skin webbing when you leap
From my approach.
But there is no escaping your captivity.
The heater has performed its function,
And I methodically pinion your raspy,
Trembling wings and
Lash your blunt feet to the roosting pole.
Hobbled in your dark penfold, you hang
Morosely upside-down, rocking slightly to
Console yourself, wings wrapped protectively
About your meager stilt-body.
Foolhardy runaway,
What mad brained self-deceit
Posessed you today as the dusk
Poured itself upon us? Did you see a lucid
Moon atop each lamppost; a dank,
Secret cave whistling with your brothers'
Wild cries behind the iron teeth of each
Parking structure's mouth?
When the rash wind inspired,
Howl-whispered in your ear, you--
Who have never known the
Rush of gusts along the cliff side; you--
Who were born under harsh flourescence,
Prodded by a medusa's-head of indifferent hands,
Hooded and stalled in a sterile display cage
Until I bought you and brought you home
To a darker confinement--
You quickened with a wanton rush inside,
Feverishly tried to lift off and whirl
Madly with the wind. I kept a tight
Hand on the gyves, which bit
Sternly into your straining ankles.
Still, over and again, you tugged against the sinewy
Shackles, a dozen reckless stars stopped short,
`Til the impulse drained away with the rain
Streaming from your skin, and you sagged
Meekly against my chest. I heartlessly
Forced you back aloft to shed the downpour
around me, divert it from my own head.
Poor withered beast,
Ought I to have let go the fetters?
You couldn't survive the unwalled life.
Surely I would have found your mangled
Morning body washed against some gutter
Grating. Yet, in one pounding, vital flight,
You might have snatched the kamikaze's
Urgent burst of freedom.
