Her Rehabilitation

Sadness is blue that puffs out  
in bubbles of paint aerosol burst on the missing sky.  
We road this plane to meet your emotion,  
but the color phased through this hand.  
The rumbling computer virus,  
unplugged at the blackened circuit.  
As the satellite can no longer catch us here,
we are stranded up on airs.  

Step off that aeroplane.  
Orange life suit spotted against the calm.  
No. The airlock seal implodes  
under the pressure of gliding whimpers,  
society entangled in the heart of you, Ms. Bomber.  

Not that you would kill,  
but that you hate this world  
and all the passengers who rail your currents  
when they have already risen outside from the earth
  
in blue
at an end of gun barrel cloud
of externalized vape
when the mind collapsed in
on thermonuclear decay.
  
The contrails of the world aerojet
coil on your failing sun.
You want your sovereignty back, burst break institution.