I drive downtown
into my constructed life,
as a fly in my window
sings, “Work Me, Lord."
Lord, let that fly, fly
wherever she wishes.
Her life is short
but not short-lived.
This fly on my window
sings, “I want what I want
not what the world gives me.”
Who am I to let
this red light block her?
Who am I to stop
these drawn out lines
of a few soulful words?
So sing fly.
Sing as loud
and as colorful
and as piercing
as you feel.
If I listen to your song
I might hear your freedom
and decide to live a life,
not have a destination.
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