I put on a red apple jacket
and head to the airport
in hopes of vantablack sleep
and no new dreams.
JetBlue blues,
love's telemetry,
turbulence,
and the horizon
all have me
scared or scarred.
we tesselate
towards the unknown,
each day a new
deity or disaster
or beatific doldrum
to dance within.
looking over thy neighbor,
out the window,
I can see the steal
and braun of a sharp city
sitting brown and green
in its bubble
like a Peruvian torch cactus,
waiting to stab me.