Having already been

             here

                           (dirt, noise, gravity)


I choose to be

             there

                           (light, air, weightlessness).


With a boarding pass

             With a pair of wax-and-feather wings

                          With a brand-new pilot’s license


I jump off the cliff

             I squeeze myself into the exit row

                           I shake hands with the navigator.


The pilot is a hero

             The pilot is a villain

                          I am the pilot.


I chart our path by hand

              I stare at light on clouds

                           I have two scotches and an Ambien.


I don’t ever land

            It’s just another commute

                          I laugh as my wings melt.




Nonfiction
Poetry
Fiction