too milky, this mix
These are the last tarmacs
a final touchdown for the weary
songs of sleep
the four stroke engines prevail
opaque by the window seat
as pronounced as flak
you fly above the waking
old levers catching
one eye opens, a wheel down
fall below the radar
it’s all enigma these days
once I saw the face of Jesus
in a pancake
tried twelve pikelets
looking for apostles
this is why clouds
are sky sea reversals
hiding low tide shrapnel
a satellite crashes in the desert
how may hearts stall
frills rise to witness?
