There's something more
To paper planes
Than what meets the eye;
The creases and folds
that let them fly.

Beneath the way
They swoop and soar,
Paper planes
have a tendency
To always fall.

Thankfully for us,
We can spend time
Flying up high,
Way up there,
Without a single care.

We have defied gravity
We rarely fall,
But when we do
It's never big,
Only small.

There's something satisfying
About watching paper planes.
Not knowing their journeys.
Not knowing their ways.
Just not knowing.

However we know,
We know now,
About the planes,
And exactly how
We've created a vow.

at three times the speed of sound the SR-71
was so fast it didn’t need to hide, but when
I met you we were slower, metal walls covered
in black reconnaissance paint, sonar silence.

blackbird, shy

sometimes you bit your lower lip, or my
eyes drowned, and we looked down and I cursed
my stubbornly earthbound feet, but blessed
be the stars that crossed for us to meet.

blackbird, cry

under the cozy cover of quietly building-up time
we moved on. when the back of your hand
brushes my face it slowly lifts another brick
of something sturdy into place.
the way your palms get clammy with excitement
when you point out planes coming out and in,
the way your eyes light with joy and nervousness
at my reaction is how I feel when I lean over your shoulder
and point out jupiter in the sky.

blackbird, dry your eyes

the hello was slow, but goodbyes move
faster than sound. we finally found saturn
and then time ran out.
standard procedure for the SR-71
in the event of a missile lock-on
was to continue being
the fastest thing in the sky.

blackbird, fly

Cars and vans,
Planes and ships,
They'd take you
Anywhere you want,
And then you'll leave
Or they will,
You'll realize
You don't mind
The amazing views,
All you want
Is their comfort,
The bumps, the plains,
The moving scene, the joy,
The journey.

We sat together,
Staring up.
A cover of white.
Wondering to ourselves
"Will we ever take flight?"

We could be the paper planes
That we've always dreamed of being.
Soaring
High above the sky.
Not realising.

The yearning for more.
Learning and growing.
Thinking.
Stopping.
Breathing.



We sat together
Wanting to be more,
Like the paper planes.
The ones we love.
The ones that soar.

Ascending among the brilliant stars,
Varied blue, white, yellow, red;
Distinct and somewhat poignant,
Draped beneath the sky overhead.

Orion unsheaths his weapon,
Ursa major does not roar,
These bears and men who cannot see,
Lend faces to the whispy air as they soar.

Dark clouds, dim lit and hazy,
Among the moon's soft shine,
Each image is reflected,
In the city's humble skyline.

Descending alongside comets,
Hot, burning, coarse rocks,
Break free from godly confines,
And dance among men, stars, and clocks.

If souls were like weeds, mine would grow with yours
Theyd soar past the others like a plane taking off
Because that's how our love is.
Baby, I've never fallen so completely.
And not nearly this fast
But I can surely say
This is a love that will last

There are planes up there
They are soaring against electric blue

They are made of such wonder

Yet all I can think is how lovely life is
Down here on the ground, with you.

She wants to learn to fly,
So that she'll never be afraid in an airplane again,
She wants to learn to write well,
So she will never be afraid of how her thoughts are displayed,
She wants to learn ballet,
So she will never be afraid she isn't beautiful.
Poor little girl,
No one ever told her that you,
Never stop being afraid.

I'm not sure why exactly that,
I thought things would end different for us,
You with your silver wings,
And me, here on the ground.
But that's exactly what I thought:
"Things will be different for us,"
God, how could I be such a fool?

Sweet Oriental Angels

with your cloth-thread harps

play your song on dizi flute and

mandolin echo soft

in the foreground

to the cruel industrial drum

of a new world.

This palace orchestra scrawled on scriptures

now a specter of labors

and dawns coated in smog.