i wonder
if after so many
rebirthes
does a phoenix
ever tire of
beginning again
rising up from
the ember and
ash only to
repeat the same
vicious cycle

it sounds
at least to me
rather fucking
exhausting

yet here i am
trundling into yet
another year
no wiser nor
even a bit better
screaming about
mythical birds
as autumn teases
a fool with a
cooler illusion
for the anniversary
of insipid birth

i did nothing
to be celebrated
it was more a
matter of contractions
and an eviction notice
on a womb with no view
which propelled me
fully broken into
a world of sheer
salinity on open wounds

an astronaut exploring
the spaces between
satellite hearts
spinning in zero gravity
somewhere far from all
the subtle nuances
bombarded by radiation
hoping one day to
simply burn up upon
re-entry into the atmosphere
another piece of trash
mistaken for a shooting star
stealing wishes before
being forced to rise again