Tag: flying

Squandered

No frills; we must tend
to the squandered beef on I-94.
Its recent turn to uselessness
in the eye of the discerning omnivore
stands in line behind a factory’s
striking rendition of a human,
chimney stacks puffing away.

No more bandying Comanche warriors
duking it out for second-class status;
Uncle Sam saw to their dissolution
while whispering “you just be good, now.”

Every part of the steer in use
would be the ideal situation here,
though idealism took a flying leap
off George Washington’s nose
when the stone masons weren’t looking.

Wafer – 10:43GMT

A wafer of indignity flew backwards through that cold, astringent night while peregrine potato bugs began their sultry swooning to be repeated, ad infinitum, until the cows come home to their cluttered garden apartments and flip on the boob tube for some unchallenging entertainment. Another day at the salt mines has left our bovine friends reaching for a simple night with chuckles, popcorn, reality TV and mediocre sex.

Moo. Somebody scratch my nose, please.

World Economy – 09:15GMT

Nothing makes a lick of sense these days, with the economy flying about like it owns the world, declaring “I know the solution to all problems on Earth. All everyone needs is a stiff cup of coffee and a slap on the back every once in a while, even once daily if possible.”

Now, the world economy can’t actually speak for itself, but you get the gist of it at least. Coffee plays a role in creating the world’s problems through its cultivation and harvest, and through roasting and brewing it because the world’s savior. The stronger the resulting beverage, the more likely the world will be saved due to its consumption.

A nice dark roast would be really nice, guys. Just keep that in mind the next time you feed me.
My T-zone feels dry. Is there any way I can get someone to moisturize it?
I really wish I could use my arms.

C

I flew the coop; took on a couple extra feathers under the brim of my cap and another in the loop of my shoelace, passengers on a journey across the Midwest. My foot feather dropped off at the world’s largest ball of twine, satisfied to become a tourist’s quarry. The other two held on for dear life as the Great Plains beckoned me to continue my arbitrary geographical survey. Not until I reached the Rockies did they think about dislodging. As I rose ever higher to avoid the jagged peaks, I noticed a hesitation. Just when I thought they didn’t have the guts, both feathers dropped into the domain of a billy goat clan and I waved goodbye. Still soaring, I questioned my motives for the flight: why did I even agree to go this far, and shouldn’t I just turn around? Days of nonstop flight can wear on you, even in a dream. I cut my losses and headed back, amazed that I hadn’t lost my lucky cap.

XCVI

Jarvis the penguin can fly
like a condor in his dreams—
though he’s never seen one—
and can’t separate that fantasy
from waking life, never once having
felt the heat of the Mojave.
His vaunted perspective
Is ludicrous to all the others
since his partner in crime
was eaten by a sea lion
going about its business
on an otherwise rather forgettable
St. Patrick’s Day.

By the Needle’s Edge

Inheriting the winds
of travel – to many arenas,
more than our fair share –
breathes legacies
into stagnant patches
of ordinary air.

The threat comes
from threading gusts
by the needle’s edge
just long enough
to get a proper bearing.

We will soar overseas
if our math is correct,
and don’t ask
what will happen
if it isn’t.