Friday, March 31, 2006


The clock still ticks as I get up to fly
A beat before the cry of our alarm. A beat
After the warm allure of steam. A beat
Under the sting of soap and eye.

A shave, a shirt, a suit, a tie, and last,
A quiet kiss good bye behind the rain.
The gentle thud of spray upon the glass
The taste of Starbucks waking up the brain.

Big Birds alight upon their concrete nest.
They rest, and fill their bills with men. They soar,
Again, again, again, and engines roar.

Some read the news with legs and arms compressed.
Some take the views and eat the juice and snacks
But only I, wish lonely I, was flying back.


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