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Aspects of Flight
Sunlight cuts through gashes of blinds
Into a crumpled reflex of paper:
This room is forever rended with premonitions
Caught inside tobacco-incense of cloversmoke
And pools of congealed thought, sits
The man of the house.
An interruption of cataclysm
Does not halt this caurosel
His cycle revolves like a spinning bullet from the chamber
Through broken bands of flickering lamplight
He dreams his dreams of Flight
The plank extending from a pirate ship
Makes his home on the edge, a teetering
Tottering world in strings and cables
He dreams his dreams of Flight
And makes love to his chalkboard with his hands
Though serene his plank may be
There is always the chance of falling
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