Wings-Field Report

hollow as a bird bone in a broken wing weighted to the earth with nothing left to sing just rasping for your mother, coughing up gravel waiting on a brother who was cleared for travel south get these rocks out of my mouth the air begins to change like the current over the wings of a Dreamliner over the sea the captain, he was up all night talking with the ghosts and singing with the angels til they touched his lips with coals cauterized get these rocks out of my mouth soaring close to God until his love melts my wings and the emptiness of space smells like paraffin and gasoline and color coded cash and coins the currency of dreams I'm all out of money babe it's as dire as it seems get these rocks out of my mouth