The plane ride was meant to be a death pact
gravelly voice from the gust screams: contact
Propellers of disappointment, disgust
wheels and pins pick up speed, we have contact
The captain sets his frequency to dust
passengers shuffle to and from contact
Leaning for the nose dive, green light to lust
shambling excuses to make contact
Fake typewriters to clean the mess of us
lines between pages breathing pen contact
Kite! Liar! We were never in danger
tethered to earth, forever in contact
Reluctant trade for gravity and trust
collective scrunch of frowns feel the tarmac
Reminded of the blitzkrieg, rattled by the rust
bending the plane down, miserable contact
September, 2013