"Aerial Ballet."
"I am not done with my falling.
I turn in the air like a fish who
realizes he is a fish somehow in the middle of a tragic miracle.
Do you wish to know about the tiny stars?
Very well, I will tell you about the tiny stars.
I am a tiny star.
My fingers burn in the air, leaving a vapor trail that
might be mistaken for a jet.
I am not done with my falling.
I turn in the air like a rock that I've always
dreamed of being a great weightless contradiction.
New York at dusk is a cluster of tiny, grounded stars.
And as I burn towards their heart,
a great peace lightens my bones.
I am not done with my falling.
I turn in the air like a snake dreaming off a bad meal.
I am dropped from a bird beneath a canopy
of stars, which is like the campfires I'd fall towards,
who will make who knows what out of this awkward story.
I am not done with my falling.
I am following my blood, which has
decided to court the streets of New York
in its own strange fashion.
I see the moon, a pale specter of a star
softly appear like smoke before a fire.
And as I plunge, the streets forever
curl away like cellophane beneath a match."