Where Bluebirds Fly

Heaven is a place between earth and sky
Where bluebirds fly and bluebirds die
Wheeling and circling and pining for land
But unable to descend to the world of man
So spiraling and wreathing in search of love
Bluebirds fall—it’s death from above
Reigning fire burning below
Heaven is a place that only we know

Fallen angels dropping feathers shedding clothes
The earth has a spine—une femme en repose
Toiling in her crevices men waste their days
Searching for gold in oxford gray
Ordering chaos in parallel lines
Snorting white through Washington, doused in wine
But they walk in vain circles—we see them from here
They’ll never know that their earth is a sphere

Atlas shrugged and the world tumbled through static
Call me crazy but don’t don’t call me an addict
I’m just finding patterns in black and white
Finding God on the corner at the traffic light
Stoning the government, tearing down Berlin
Walking earth’s backbone, sewing seams in my skin
But pulling out the stitches I find the enemy within
It’s not for me to cast the first stone—I am not without sin

Is a numb man tortured if he cannot feel the chains?
Does a mute man suffer if he does not complain?
Has a bluebird, fallen, forgotten how to fly,
If his toes touch the ground, though his mind still scrapes the sky?
Is sin, if called by any other name, still as delicate, still as sweet?
And is the loss of one’s marbles still considered defeat?
What more is the universe than what we perceive it to be,
Even if we cannot love that which we see?

But don’t ask these questions, take off your wings
Through this metal detector, then you may collect your things
Pack your bags but leave your liquids at home
Stay in line, know your birthday, shuffle onto a sky bird of chrome
Abandon fields of lavender, you can’t bring them on here
They don’t belong on the land of the stolen frontier
Just tune in, turn off, close your eyes, go to sleep
So you won’t see the approach of Empire Garbage Heap

Our feet are rotting in the roots of the cynics
Hating the world that they in turn mimic
We are wheeling and circling and pining for land
But the company we long for is not that of man
It exists only in a place between earth and sky
Through which angels fall, but do not die
Reigning fire burning below
Heaven is a place that only we know.