Blown glass heartbeat,

With an extension cord, the vibrations are distancing themselves,

Between macabre and *** luck and **** luck- And affection-

Are heirlooms cry of antique tears.

San Francisco Chronicle:

“Boeing kidnaps…”

And my soul bottled up in an hour layover heist.

Boeing adult-naps.

Texas.

Texas.

Texas.

Amarillo beehive hair across the aisle, smoke and honey.

It stings my tongue, kisses my lungs, legs-crossed on the highest rung.

The Miller High Life-esque, reclining on a quarter moon.

Here we are, patience and mercy.

Here we are patience.

Here we are.

Here.