terminal

March 20, 2014 § 1 Comment

I pull the rip cord,
look up, and
I do not see
a chute

there is always the
chance
that I will be that
rare unmoored vessel
that is
caught just before
impact and
the accompanying
transmutation into
a thousand
shards of myself

each newborn
facet
reflecting the light
of the world in a
completely
different way

a scenario that
has it’s
advantages,
would be something
a philosopher
might say

maybe so

but, as he perfects
the pensive look
and makes up
answers for
a select group of fans,

I’m busy contemplating
the tensile strength
of nylon,
moving at
250 feet per second
toward the
inevitable

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

Sent from my iPhone

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