I'll catch the red eye If my good one spots the tire track, Implosions, or anything below me. Happy cheer-driving snows. I'll see Christmas on the calendar. My finger is a fulcrum for the horizon And we're lifting. Ascension, what impatient noise. Headmistress, Harlot, condensation On the windows, from the inside. That's a heated barking eruption. I'll sink further and further To keep the tips of my ears. Sleep excites me to bang Bang on the cockpit doors And the floor is a silicone mesh Like the breasts of never mothers are. The cool slip stretches my dimensions Until the wings are wings of angels. And I slide down the insides Of the plastic windows, rain And you speak tongues to me while I melt.