stratosphere

If I could fly,
I'd scathe every feather
from my wings
one
by
one
until I plummeted from the sky  
in a perfect illustration
of absolute hemorrhage
 
tumble past the earth,
what may or may not
lie beneath it's surface
ready to engulf me in self sacrifice;
in a release
even better than the recess
of my favorite 80 proof bottle
 
down  
 
down
 
down
 
down
 
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
 
d
o
w
n
 
in the only fashion
I understand
 
but I'll never soar beautifully tragic
 
so I'll admire the owls  
with snake spit envy
as they defy the very stars
in spine distorting acrobatics
demanding all the luster from lunar romantics
and immersed in practiced suicide
like the aged veterans
they truly are
 
emulated in poetics
much too ineffable
to depict in meaningless words
as they hyperventilate too close to the heavens
provoking the day they descend  
like crippled angels
but that's okay with me,
I know I'll incinerate
before I dare to dream
of touching the stratosphere
 
I'd never be afraid
because, honestly
.
.
.
.
.
.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
it
 
feels
 
so
 
fucking
 
good
 
to
 
f
a
l
l  
.
.
.
.
.
.
.