Find myself, find myself- trying to find something to write about;
the words arrive as if they owe me a debt for the reflections
I’ve already invested. If you could loan me a few phrases,
to bank on crafting something that’s truly worth your time.

We shared a moment, you pouring out your thoughts while
I absorbed every word, my voice trapped in a writer’s block.
Kissing by that corner, parked in my feelings- we took a neutral
agreement that our first kiss would remain a secret between us.
But we had shifting ideas; you preferred discretion, while I
yearned to shout from the rooftops about finally kissing a girl.

But I… had this imagination of being able to read your mind
by your eyes spelling of tears- each time you cried out what
your first relationship should be. But could it be just me,
thinking that you were hinting at something, when you
spoke those words, to maybe pass a hint at me?

And I’m like a folding chair for the memory of you, sitting
on my mind- folding into myself; collapsing inward, delicate
as paper ready to be transformed into paper planes- the again,
I was just a guy flying around your head.

                                  A fly by night crush.

There flew the **** bomber low over a town
The front gunner shot at people he spotted
Short random bursts zipping out mostly missing
Bullets bouncing off roads houses walls
Some thudding into people quite lethally
Nobody shoots back this raider has surprise
And speed with daring to keep him safe
Plus eight guns to shoot if intercepted
The English fighters are always hungry
To nail a *** especially one aggressive like this
The Dornier zooms here and there gunning away
Having already dropped his bombs on target
A mid-sized engineering factory making items
For the war effort which killed German troops
It was now time to expend some bullets
Do some more killing on English targets
A grandmother was a target as was a postman
The Dornier curved round and headed for home
His ammo half expanded he continued
Roaring over rooftops a hundred feet up
His nose gun and other guns spit forth death
This was only one **** plane what of a hundred?

trapped on this flying bus
they just turned out the lights
do they not want us to see each others’ faces?!
while we plummet to our fiery deaths?!

Shiden-Kai
After the battle
Fishing the plane
From the water
No fighter pilot
Where is he?
Gone far away
Where warriors go
Shiden-Kai pilot
One of six
Lost that day
B-Sans or Hellcats
All the same
Way back '45
Old fading times
Not even memories
Don't forget them
Of all sides
Silence ...

When they came down from their disk
With their blinding lights
And their alloy ramps
It quickly became obvious
Unexpectedly, in our hubris,
That they wished only to
Gas up,
Take some pictures of squirrels
And stretch their limbs
Before setting out toward a finer frontier.

The winds from where you grew up
Strike conversations at midnight
Your thoughts, now paper planes
Take off into memory lanes
And your feet, aching soles
Search for branches, and petals
That remind you of home
The taste of sweet dates still dancing on your tongue
Sweet syrup stretches its limbs
Through your nose
Sensations of a past soaked in white noise
When did you leave it behind?
And you think back to the time
When you walked with your naïve self
Too young to comprehend
Back onto a boat
In those dreams that never escape you
Called memories

i wonder
how we managed
to convince our hands
not to hold onto each other
when we said goodbye.

now, i'm writing
inside this flying can;
thinking this might be the closest
to a home.

these small seats,
with even smaller legs space.
these funny-shaped windows,
where all you can see are
white clouds,
and sporadically
some lights.
tiny houses,
with even tinier people.

and us,
tiny giants,
reading overpriced perfume catalogs,
listening to mispronounced english,
using disposable low-fidelity headphones,
inside low-light low-love low-cost
low-everything
airplanes.

With wearied ways the air looks grey
It's colour stains surrounding planes
Heavy clouds weigh eyelids down
Condensed to rest as momentum slows
Mellow tones and energy spent
Low on conversation goals
All but empty sentiments
No plans today, worn out to play
Sleep instead behinds your gaze
Dreaming to regenerate