(no subject)
you're pressing your fingers against the sky,
asking Jesus if he sees how close those trees are.
you don't believe in Jesus. a stewardess takes everything
sharp that could hurt you: plastic cups, prayer beads.
all of her omelets are gone. you're watching your window
like television-- a show about the suburbs, those stubborn lives.
whole families relax and look lovely at home.
you're folding your arms around the armrests,
feeling the vague sadness of the stewardess's voice.
there are no clouds today above the boxwoods.
you could live in a world so solidly blue.
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arghhhhhh! i just wrote all about my upcoming trip here and pippin, hopping on the edge of the keyboard, hit a button that somehow caused all but the poem to erase. argh!!!! pippin!! LOL. i would like to be able to say it was an accident on his part, but judging from the mischevious little glint in his eye i'm not all too sure.
i'll rewrite it later.