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Flying Running Crying
If I could go running far from the house,
I would run to the thunderstorm trees
and ask them how they dare to hold their heads up.
If I could capture a lady bird in a jar of lemon juice,
I would sail away with shame.
If I were tied up to the ground with duct-tape rope,
I would be a madman named George
eating a whole forestful of blackbirds.
If I were a blackberry,
I would turn red and swollen like my teary eyes
and nobody would notice anything different.
If I were a hill,
fish would run up me on their scaly jumping fins.
If I were sea,
I would caress the tender sailors who fell into my sorrow.
If I could sleep and not worry,
I would be a bridge with stars passing under my chords.