#hindenburg
Grey skies
flying moor
storm in a teacup
gas cell 4
the clock hands are matchsticks
...
The letting go of everything
in hopes of trimming the airship
this seat is no longer taken
...
In love with a bad idea
the zeppelin and the magnetism
closing in beyond the minimum safe distance
...
Dim blue flame
a psalm of survival:
days and peoples and places
are transatlantic numbers
crawling from the wreckage
the clock hands are matchsticks
Jul 7, 2023
Jul 7, 2023 at 1:15 PM UTC
I draw on lilac cigars
through my mask
so her journey in neon stays
safely as a highlight
in gas filtered clouds
the faulty starter judders the light
flora scented
and in the flickering clouds
an attempt at landing
reveals her girdle red
in a flash of steely eyes
and suddenly mine were blinded
just as she rubbed against the dark
combing her strands wildly apart
she shook blonde roots and brunettes alike
I'm a sucker for hair turned hydrogen
peroxide mixed with air to make stars
startling amidst malefactory dye
metal booms swung away at each other
in the distance
building her model oxygen tanks
for pin up flower cuttings
and garlands on picket fences
she kissed the ground
and I gas peddled
a stomp on the glowing end
to the stub
only to drop like a skeleton
with lead hands
to follow any seeds
******* burnt rain
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC