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DrewTM |
This trip is a wish for ultimate beauty.
My plane will not approach the sun.
She will crackle and say I am boarding,
But the push will be as strong as the pull.
Zap in and zep out to a starched parking lot
Will be a pip of thought--less than that--
As yellow midnights of numb, buzzing plans
Washing, white wakings in borrowed-sheets beds
Build to succulent days and perma-press nights.
Ten years pause on ten slow breaths--
For ten days, time can trail my temples.
A renaissance may be had, but not at my own hand.
My mouth will inhale what harmony approaches
on the open hush of measured hiatus.
* * *
[someone should remix this]
Labels: Drew
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