The plane ride was meant to be a death pact
      gravelly voice from the gust screams: contact

    Propellers of disappointment, disgust
      wheels and pins pick up speed, we have contact

    The captain sets his frequency to dust
      passengers shuffle to and from contact

    Leaning for the nose dive, green light to lust
      shambling excuses to make contact

    Fake typewriters to clean the mess of us
      lines between pages breathing pen contact

    Kite! Liar! We were never in danger
      tethered to earth, forever in contact

    Reluctant trade for gravity and trust
      collective scrunch of frowns feel the tarmac

    Reminded of the blitzkrieg, rattled by the rust
      bending the plane down, miserable contact

September, 2013