Eighty-Two.

23/3/14

Izzy circle

izzy

standing on the shoulders of giants
not only standing on the shoulders of giants
but shrinking them

*

Sarah circle

sarah

O this earth, she’s a bastard
And try though I might, I can’t tame her
I’ve had it with this dirt that won’t stay off my heels
With this sour old filly soil
That keeps throwing me off
And chuckling to see me bite the dust of the day
So I’m off to the skies
If there’s a chance that they’ll have me
Throw my arms open wide
And step into the air
Pack my limbs in a jacket
Pressed in buttons of brass
Part my hair all one-sided
Pipe out ‘God Save the King’
And with a little good luck
And some patriot pageantry
In a fortnight or so
I’ll have my fists on the yoke
And as the dawn peeks over a hissing horizon
I’ll breathe in the diesel and blood in the air
And feel the earth kick and buck as we rattle on faster
And then finally, finally, she’ll spit us right out
And I’ll soar
14,000 feet up in the hands of the gods
Or whoever it is who throws the clouds in the sky
And I’ll laugh at that scrape of green smeared out below me
And the strings that held me there will splinter and snap
And I’ll sing
I’m not long for the flying, I’m not a damn fool
Eight days, they give fighters
If they’re lucky, if they’re quick
Not for me the applause of the ticker-tape public
Can’t image much worse than the landing back down
No, give me the death of a phoenix up skyward
With a gunner’s stigmata shot into the plane
God, let me not land on that ground I so hate
Lord, make me an angel, burning fiery and true
An inferno’s my coffin, I’ll be the brightest brief star
And I’ll take up my place in the firmament’s cheek

*

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