this poem illustrate all that makes me the worst and best of what I want to be. I read some old conversations i had with someone from March today, and remembered that I was not so dumb in feeling the Pull... but only because, i have too much faith in words.

"Fly
I have been cruel to a fat pigeonBecause he would not flyAll he wanted was to live like a friendly old man
He had let himself become a wreck filthy and confidingWild for his food beating the cat off the garbageIgnoring his mate perpetually snotty at the beakSmelling waddling having to beCarried up the ladder at night content
Fly I said throwing him into the airBut he would drop and run back expecting to be fedI said it again and again throwing him upAs he got worseHe let himself be picked up every timeUntil I found him in the dovecote deadOf the needless efforts
So this is what I amPondering his eyes that could notConceive that I was a creature to run from
I who have always believed too much in words
-W.S. Merwin"