They are un-inherent beings,
without song, without
knowing--
the knowledge that comes
from a single feeling
leading to that one great moment, the this is who
I am moment...

So, I shall walk with them,
wear them, carry them,
pick up their disfigured limbs–
appendages and lock-jawed faces
skinned and inhuman.

But what is human, who is the human?

I am no more human than I am monster.
Monsters, trolls, giants--
the fallen ones.
I name them as they come.
Entities, multifarious perversions of self
and what the word self stands for,

dormant and waiting,
they are a hawk-like presence nestled in the breast
until the eruption from within
sears a hole
straight through the thymus.
Smoldering,   
the creature stands erect.
Its wings–
flames spanning the length of my body,
and I feel it,
free and glorious,  

I see it–
the raptor soaring
above the seas.

©  Maria Lupinacci 2005