Airplanes flying low,

and there are no drafts left

plenty of flack, though.

If you couldn’t piece that together,

god have mercy.

I know they can see me from here,

from all the way up there,

rip me apart from there.

The blinking green lights of the wings of the plane blending fluently with the lightning strikes,

then the lightning takes on the precise glow of that same planes wings,

it’s at the drop of the hat in which this occurs,

it’s all green when this occurs,

when that plane is flying so low,

amidst the hum of the cicadas,

and can come grow from nothing.

Even if I was able to get a word in edgewise,

it’s still there,

lingering at night,

loitering, just out of reach

and all we are missing are the fireflies when were having this much fun.

It doesn’t have to be IN CAPS.

It’s all improvised anyways,

despite the existence of the shift key, and trading posts off the beaten path.

alternating between custody of the lower case and CAPS lock

and bouts of yellow fever.

I take the stage alone,

anyways, as always.

I don’t look,

I never do.

I take the plunge,

the fear of heights still fresh in my mind , as it always is.

I don’t close my eyes ( this time) and I still don’t look,

despite my lonesome reservations

it allflowstogetherandihavetotrytodecidewheretoputthecommas

I HAVE TO MAKE A DECISION

THE HUMANITY

the red underline is a glare, a stare,,,,, a question

the cliff or rooftop from which I leap,

( of course it could be either, or both)

and I’m in freefall

and if you wanted a mirror, here it is.

Like I wanted to be sorry,

sorry if I have said this before.

As if I wanted to be hunted ,

in that way.

As if I wanted to be hurtled , that way.

As if I wanted to be trampled, that way.

It sounds better now, that way.

In the future , it will be up for interpretation.

The gap,

The séance,

the throttling and

that righteousness

_________________all of it$$$$$$$$$$

Finally some good volume.

Finally some good vultures.

It all comes spilling out,

Spilling out between the skin and bones,

Circumventing the fanatics and the cellular walls,

darting between all the held calls, and the rentals like traffic,

that all adds up.

this is all exhausting.

Finally it comes to rest at the shoreline,

all the blood and time and blue cars,

still significantly short of any rhymes, or sedans.

Desperately short on sand dollars, and four-wheel – drive, as well.

We all are thinking ,

finally we got a good haiku,

even if its a syllable or two , off .

Even if were still stuck in the sand,

and this is just a painting, anyways.

Whats the opposote of a piranha?

What’s that resting on the heads of the druids?

I’ll make sure I get to sleep,

Once I am done looking over my shoulder.

and cocking my head back,

but not with laughter

but not with sleep, either.

Kicking my legs, back and fourth.

Kicking

my

legs.

Those chattering teeth are right in my blind spot,

Just let me MERGE.

The light is tired of constantly catching up to sharp angles,

and catching up to me.

I am busy trying to catch back up on everything else.

Just trying to remember,

trying desperately to consolidate.

trying so hard just to read ahead.

It has to mean something,

To remember; to peek peak.

To be this over encumbered

to be that free.

As if I had a choice,

as if there was any kind of chancellor,

any amount light from the chandelierz.

Softened with chamomile.

camouflaged with charisma,

scrambling any kind of chromosomes along with the fighter jets, and

AIR FORCE ONE.

I wanted to be sorry,

to be hunted,

to be humiliated

to be human ;

to be christened,

I am not sure why I am up

and pacing.

Crumbling, along with the rest of the cinderblocks.

Disengaging, whenever they decide to bite,

It bites,

and they decide to bite back.

It haunts,

they will,

and in short…

now we are bitten,

now we are accountable;;;;;;;

Eyes even with the blades of grass,

but not on your back anymore.

You are forced to stare back,

so that you can finally match their eyes.

The eyes of the lions.

The eyes of the tigers,

The eyes of all the spectators.

So that were parallel with them.

trying to defeating them

while still practicing with them.

Putting to bed all that chemistry,

that doubt;

all those rituals.

Deleting only a fraction of it

only some of what we wrote,

only some of what we thought.

We were still bolstered in that moment ,

but still obliterated with plenty of time left

All that buildup,

the precipice,

quivering ,

the foreplay; the horseplay.

It burns its way in,

kicks in the parlor doors,

and doesn’t ask about any of those readily available ghosts

or about anything that could very well be documented;

not about any alibies or rabid dogs,

If that’s what they were really here for, in the first place

Bearing down on my eyelids, in the first place

if that’s what they really want,

Nervously scratching at my own stomach,

but it’s sweet,

My fingernails are barely legible in that crisp bathroom light,

under duress

and then

grabbing at my neck,

with whatever is left,

in the morning sun, the very next second,,,,,

with whatever is left.