aboard the aircraft metaphorical
bearing those employed
by companies large and small

a moment arrives when the cryptic
overhead lights instruct
that the time to leave has come

passengers are led to the open door
at the rear of the fuselage
where they will leap into the mist

the happy few will be strapped
into a designer backpack
filled with a carefully packaged parachute
of luminous gold

others are handed
a sturdy bundle which holds a
lifesaving paraglider of shining silver

a group somewhat more numerous
gratefully accept their sustaining dome
of spun silk and exit with confidence

the greatest number will be in a line
leading past a toilet paper dispenser
each individual to be ejected will be allotted
a single sheet

the one ply tissue will be printed as follows
“Grasp tissue firmly on opposite sides
hold tissue above head parallel with ground”

a hearty cry of “Good luck!” follows them
as they are assisted through the door
by a well placed boot

midnight dark
is my true love’s kiss
of clove and citrus scented

cradled in the subtle
woven voices
of the conspiratorial night wind

soft as the silver-blue
edges of light
cast from nocturnal lanterns

sharing in silent thunder
secrets held in coffers
of crimson jade

blazing with the vibrance
of constellations
blown before celestial storms

full as skyward Luna
rounded and buxom
heavy with desire

veiling my worldly sight
so her truth can pierce me

blinding me
that I may see

I once heard someone say
when discussing life’s troubles

“Don’t worry, God is flipping
the big pancakes”

I thought
“It’s a good thing somebody is”

even the little silver dollar ones
come out burned on one side
gooey on the other
and stuck to the wall
when I try

take me to that shadowed place
past all the songs and tales untold
for none can ever see a trace
in domains dark where souls are sold

chill thoughts in solemn darkness tread
outside the sun’s beguiling spell
through barrens deep in mortal dread
of endless night and frozen hell

my voice lies mute in lifeless cold
where twilit lands may hide my face
beyond my youth and dreams of gold
conceal my wretched fall from grace

with stone and star I now will dwell
and grieve alone for words unsaid
leave bone and dust my fate to tell
weep silent tears that must be shed

don’t make me write another poem
with fancy words cause I don't know ‘em

I’ll write a book or short article
make science notes about a particle

a brief speech or an opinion piece
type a travel blog of sunny Greece

I’d gladly pen a romance novel
if poetry’s asked I’d sooner grovel

I’ve lost the power of rhyme you see
as fork and spoon sound the same to me

but now I see what I have written
it reads like Edward Bulwer-Lytton

I’m stuck in couplets what a curse
but what the hell it could be verse

wrapped in the tatters of my body
in this measureless place

I search for release
among the disconsolate boles
thin as hope
hard and dark

wearing pallid shrouds
of frozen lace
proudly displayed
in their alfresco mausoleum

an inexhaustible study
in the extremes
of leaden purity

their moribund limbs
and ice sheathed fingers
reach into me
pulling me on

tears of other lives
in frosted glory
cold upon my wintered face

always renewed
and living on
in fractal eternity

I have no memory of breath
till we kissed
now each breath recalled
spoke of you

each moment infused
with airs of your inclination
your unfolding sigh
filled me

kiss me
once more

your lips on mine
breathe into me
my last breath
must be yours

till I return it