There's a gentleman playing golf on rolling green hills
He lifts his club
And swings at the ball
There's a brief window
When the ball turns into a bird
And you can barely make out
Its wings, feathers, beak, and claws
And then it lands somewhere near the flag pole
Elegantly, yet strong enough to move some dirt.
Have you ever wished you could fly?
Today I play golf. There are green hills that define the horizon
I lift my club
And I hit my arm that's lying on the ground
It flies into the air and there it is
A bird
Free and careless
Then my leg
It's even more magnificent
Then my torso
An aviary set free
And lastly, my brain
And you could see me fly
Through the clouds
And for a split second
It seems like I'm never going to land.
(The art piece in the photo is from the "one last trip to the underworld" exhibit by Nathalie Djurberg and Hans Berg)
-Demi
