Frequent flier radio stations with matching baggage
On the inside looking out - on the ledge, leaning
He may have wanted fluffy cloud slumber
But instead found himself haunted by staccato thunderstorms
More urgent than the soothing rhythms and dulcet footwork he was accustomed to
Not expecting Tinkerbelle to be armed to the teeth, locked and loaded
A guerilla chanteuse with camouflage tutu

Cold sweat- wide awake now
And at the end of his bed,
a single black shoe and an empty cartridge