here we go again,
the ride up another clear plastic elevator waiting
behind trap doors and ceilings that beg to fall in-
line, but this crooked path
has had adverse effects on our
upward motion without even the courtesy
of a glass ceiling.

my stomach is lurching,
twisting into a new cocoon
opening for fresh life
slipping like silver through
the reflection of us
and our empty hands.

through the cracks
the sun burns
dead skin and sour memories away;
we hit the emergency release,
we need to stay hidden for a bit longer and we
want to let things fall down naturally

but nature's never agreed
with my idea of flying
and we've been falling up for far too long
for these games to be of consequence anymore.

we can take the shapes of our arms
and build new constellations;
we can force our way through the clouds.

we should take a rocket ship to mars
and hide under a storm where
bounty hunters get lost and the world
can just forget.

or we could always lose ourselves
in the bermuda triangle, but geometry
was never my thing.

01/29/2011

Author's Note: ava was awesome to work with and it was a lot of fun putting this piece together.

Posted on 01/30/2011
Copyright © 2025 Morgan D Hafele