Blue Chalk on Gritty Fists

Fly out of New York at sunset,
new year’s dawn at backbrain forefront.
2010 hope higher than this plane.
I see stability on the horizon.
Predictability, permanent mailing address.
Minor miracles,
little things mean everything,
call at takeoff to make sure I’ll call when I land.
Miss me, kiss me,
make me eat
sleep
hope
dream,
you make me human,
I’ll make us gods, angel.
Cherries coming,
addictive reverb swings low.
I repeat myself to reassure myself,
because the fact is that I am very young and terribly afraid.
Fear is an expensive luxury I can’t afford.
Brittle confidence is better than nothing,
And I’ve been running since March
so I’ll face this head on
even if I chip in the wind.
Flying fragments spill down,
I am volcanic ash smeared across her Catholic forehead,
nourishing his garden.
Fill my hair with roses
Don’t throw the bouquet.