leiphos
Bluelighter
- Joined
- May 8, 2008
- Messages
- 1,147
Jetting (critique, please!)
Pink Floyd blares
on the jet
to nowhere, where
the lake’s waves will break
the sun (if one is left).
Floyd’s guitars
redeem me, press me
into this bear chair
they call skin, this leather
beneath my ass.
The oxygen’s
hiding in the ceiling, high
as my mind. And
a woman in bright blue’s
trying to speak through
my ears’ armor,
through Pink Floyd
at 9 AM.
I’m finally flying
nowhere
as usual.
Pink Floyd blares
on the jet
to nowhere, where
the lake’s waves will break
the sun (if one is left).
Floyd’s guitars
redeem me, press me
into this bear chair
they call skin, this leather
beneath my ass.
The oxygen’s
hiding in the ceiling, high
as my mind. And
a woman in bright blue’s
trying to speak through
my ears’ armor,
through Pink Floyd
at 9 AM.
I’m finally flying
nowhere
as usual.
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