Poems

the plunge

and bless the precipice approaching fast
and feel the squeeling insecurity
the vessel stretches back into the past
its tip protrudes over the brink of free

so as the vessel creaks straddling falls’ edge
the gravity takes hold and brain recalls
like woah hold on at coaster’s tall apex
as past resurges while you watch you fall

a timeline notched by sweet adrenaline
and all those regrets that you “don’t regret”
suspended air-born once the fall begins
stuck counting all the things you should have said

then smack the water’s surface breaks
untested cold does hold a certain grace

Wind Turbine Field

quiet white jacks oscillate along the skyline
the steady Illinois horizon
a couple hundred noses from old fighter planes
severed from their bodies
relive old glory forever
on tall stands fashioned
from finest giraffe necks
painted white to match the clouds
some final force
will be the ball that scatters
every jack
veteran propellers refly their missions
over London over Midway over Gulf over Baghdad
refight old enemies via phantom bodies
resound scream and whirr
and remaneuver the deadly swoop

the pound of meteor
some lost marble from space
perhaps an everyday disaster
or perhaps
the wind will surge and lift them
and let them lost in clouds fly again, this time to afterlife

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