Monday, June 21, 2010

We glided past the desert air

We glided past the desert air,
splitting cotton clouds and
diet cokes, that the Stewardess

pored into cups. Looking out the
window, I asked the twin peeked
eyes so gray with age,

for change. I heard they traded goad
for plans if the snow caped threads

that tied them quiet melted
in the summer.

The Window Shades where optimistic,

but views gained by climbing jets,
bathed my eyes clean of thought;
until the only thing left

was breath. My thoughts and fingers
still, I sat alone, in the middle

of strangers, where birds don't dare to fly.

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