Wednesday, May 25, 2005


I burned myself on autopilot again;
thinking I knew this route like flame knows gas.

Yet, touch tingles when it turns the engine
like old friends mingle every day they pass.
I’d love to switch on autopilot, but
I need to feel the terrain, to sieve the leaves
spend my time at the tip of the crust

gauge my air, wanderings, gas, and needs.
Air under, air over: hawks know what chickens guess.
Survey our course to purvey our way.

Vision parodies the sun spots’ depths.
I trusted machines,

my biggest mistake;
The air pressure dropped,
the engine gave way.
I almost backed up
into a mountain today.


  1. Heeeey why'd ya move the line breaks in the last stanza? Was there more to be said by moving them over to the right?

    I liked this piece very much, btw. I kept smiling at it, but never wrote down that I felt it.

  2. yeah, i kind of needed the space. don't know if it gives it more meaning, just more room to kinda breathe.

    again, flattered.


Be kind. Rewind.