popcorn clouds

everyone loves early morning flights.
dear Vancouver, see you monday night.

from my 'i wish i could write as well as Jim Morrison' days:

The green bottle sits

Unmoving

Counter top existence where nothing

Can be done to ever

Change the future but

We all can do nothing

About it anyways

Picked up and held

In the hands of a bleeding man

Who looks at the label and spits

On the floor and raises it to his mouth

only to find that it holds

poison

but he drinks and swallows

and throws the bottle

to the ground and turns

and dies on a gurney

popcorn clouds