Exit

One day

before I launch from this room

straight through the roof

I will count all the dry specks of flesh my men have left

there must be dunes meters high

if I cupped them in my hand

blew them to the sky

they would join stars

constellations of memories,

ambitions, tiny drifters on lightyears

dandruff, the dust of angst

some float in his half sweet tear

When I take off from my catapult chair

the flecks of skin will bluster

like rocket ship smoke

and I'll be gone.

Mike Ladd