transatlantic

Our love took off a 777,
lucky triplet numbers,
then split like a headache
never will even by a pill.

Our love was a moist towel
on a transatlantic flight
burned hot in our hands
then quickly took on a chill.

we were miles from ordinary
then became too old and weary
as our bleary eyes met
in the starry sky kismet

and fell thirty-thousand feet.

phoney buzz

the women swoon,
the men ogle
as the retail
employees engage
them in boondoggle,
swoop in for the sale,

assailing them with adspeak

trapped in this maze
of hype and buzz,
their scripted chatter
becomes a fuzzy haze
since what they say
doesn't matter;

everyone bands together
on this wagon of the week.

9am

grey vapor clouds
crawl across the horizon
the snails of sky
and closing my eyes
tight
i can smell
at the center
of the spiral shell
a rain so fresh and still