My Strengths Are Primarily Avian

Brut Force

At last, I'm accepting the efficiency of having
the chest of a bird; why didn't I follow finches
first? My strength is mostly found in flapping:
forget rabbit sprints: flailing will make me rich
or force other walkers into the street grinning,
but what if I treat each person as a possibility
of love, declare it like a cicada's sexy keening?
Like my dog, as my hope rises, so does anxiety:
Scientists can't explain planets as hot as the sun; 
at least we know what close friends want (psych)!  
Oh, metrics: count a hundred meteorites in one
hour, a hundred mosquitos, or a hundred fireflies; 
instead, we must smear moth meteorites atop
the car's soft rooftop (just love in a new form)

The Only Deals Are Two for One

Why start the next great American novel 
when you can read the contraindications
on a bottle of Tylenol; it’s part of the effort
to live the dream: to live pain-free, to pass
time productively, in spite of inflammations 
that we either haven’t quite become inured 
to, or which we’ve endured till its familiarity 
becomes a craving; the “vroom” of another 
blended Vitamix bromide is its own reward,
an audio massage felt in the chest, or even
the pointless sharpness of the smoke alarm, 
testing automatically, in the coffee shop for
hours, first because no one can turn it off, 
ultimately left on at the patrons’ demand.