Posts
Don't call on me again.
In the morning,
I will put on my paper pants
Fold my oriental wings
And fly out of the oil spill
That is the world.
No one grants wishes.
Not your father
Or the man you've thought
You've known to be.
Where am I...
I am still flying
On the incandescent clouds
Of fortitude and wandering
Perhaps for forever
Or until, at last,
All the loneliness and CFCs
Of the world
Strangles me back down
To reality.
There is no more room left in me
For the pedantic-isms of humanity's worries.
I can not tell you
I love you
When that is all you want.
