July’s Air

Watching planes take flight in the night sky

and for the first time in my life

I’m not jealous of the planes,

this is exactly where I wanna be:

right here

tasting July’s air.

I can look at birds floating against the clouds

without rage or spite

just a similar sense of weightlessness ,

cause my mind doesn’t fly away now:

it stays

laying itself bare.

So this poem isn’t a poem

about beautiful women

or angsty expression


not this one,

this poem:

it goes out to the planes

and the birds

and the staying here-

with feet on the ground

breathing in

July’s air.

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