(a little radiosonde launched by weather balloon from Texas A & M in Bryan-College Station)


There is perhaps a certain indignity
In grounding back on earth among some weeds
Your late balloon a fragment of itself
Your parachute all damp and limp and still

But, oh! what an adventure you have lived!
Scuffy the Tugboat might well envy you
Your day and night in scientific flight
With helium instead of pixie dust

Like Peter Pan you sailed along the wind
Straight on until morning, then home again

What do you mean? Shedding your skin and consuming it for nutrients is essential! The essentials, love breath and fire. I breathe fire when I speak and sometimes even when I mean to speak water. It bubbles up boiled. I like my shoes soiled. Don't un-scuff my scuffs. I put funhouse mirrors in the parlor. At least this time I can laugh at dysmorphia. I wonder what it's like to be morphia. I've tamed by brain since Tuesday. It's a no- shoes day. Scuffs all around. Scuffy, scuffy feet. Blisters like the wind. I'm hands and feet. Everything in between, obsolete. I'm brain sometimes too. But mostly feet. I need to ground myself. I've never been grounded, but I live in time-out. How do I flip time from outside, in? I fold each minute with the rest of the laundry. Bleach only. It's 10:55 somewhere. Some of somewhere is here. Some of it is elsewhere. Congratulations, it's brain o' clock! My psychiatrist rewarded me with a handshake. I'm finally touchable, within reach. I still shake in my sleep. I can put my thoughts in my pockets and save them for later. My pockets still have holes but there's a second layer. Antipsychotic or timeslayer?