Some nights the
air turns brutal
And all you can
see are planes
Butter-winged in
between the sheathes of wind
Aiming for the
callouses of the earth
And you never
really thought you’d be the kind
To make a death
threat, but right now you’re dying
To kill
something or other as though life
Were just the
little light atop a birthday candle
Or some medal you
can take away.
