Sky Dive

I flipped out of the airplane.
Fell at 120 miles per hour.
I smiled for the camera.

I used my teeth to kill those words
that needed to be killed.
I waited at your front door
with the raccoons.

A mosquito landed on my arm,
but took off without taking a bite.
My blood is made of mosquitoes.
It would have been a murder.

I peed my shorts,
getting in the plane.
Just a little drop.
A mystery spot.

The widow left town
with a stovepipe hat.
The sheriff was drinking
by the moonshine light.
There was a dog limping
on the razorbladed horizon.
I was just waiting around
to finish my beer.

Lean out and fall.
The Earth comes at you
like a big back slap.
120 miles per hour.

The pirate took off his eye patch and winked.
“Do you think today is a lucky day?”
The mailbox piled up with mail and cobwebs.

Half the trees in the forest were burned,
their scars looked like angry faces.
The ground was covered with thistle.
The sky wore a maudlin mask.

The chute opened.
I gently floated.
Distance inverted.
My thoughts cooled.

Luck has no alibi,
it just lies around
like a house cat,
finding pockets of sunlight.

I landed safely on the ground.
There was no thump,
no skidding stop.

“Here we are.”
“Yep. Here we are.”


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