PaperHurricanesAndPlanes

A poem I wrote.

The Air in Which We Search For A Deeper Meaning

Night comes down upon us, like a silver hammer upon a nail.
It’s conclusive in assumed nature, devout in alleged intent.
Savoir-faire savior, and catastrophe imminent.

It washes the Earth. Bringing to us nothing but mystery.
As we dig deep, deep, for meaning. Why does it break us?

A moon shows the way to a city brawl.
The stars lit the luminous path, millions of miles away,
Safe and sound, hanging as if by strings.

Under a sky, beautiful intricacy in the design, crispness of the picture before you.
Constellations, drawings in the sky, remind us all of a synthetic history.
And pave and paint the road for new remedies to create tragedies.

The stars, hover above us, in pretension, in abhorrence and self-righteousness.
Can we find what we’re looking for, in a place so far beyond our own intentions?
Piety in the sky, the air which we search for a deeper meaning and omnipotence.

What have our searches brought us?
Nothing but more innuendo and estimation.

Sacrilegious stars pound at humankind’s door.
Malicious limelights, shone bright over assaults and homicides.
One such star, leans down to me, and says in an oh-so-holy way, “Fuck you.”

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