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Sober as a Judge |
I don't know what the grape-lanes really are,
if they mean anything at all - and that,
the Nothing-Here-Now, Move-Along diktat
may be the story's likeliest hurrah -
but let the record show itself not far
from right when it asserts that thin or fat,
skimming the near horizon or slow sat
above the house, they might seem normal bar
one thing: the silence. Not a fucking peep.
Nothing that size, that close, has any right
to travel light; they're not balloons, although
they do balloon the brain with doubts that creep
up moments later - did I really sight
that old grey plane? Yes: let the record show
copyright 2015
Dave
Houston |
