Turbulence

Gods dance a merry jig

Fiddling on the wings of planes,

While I sit drinking pagan wine.

 

There are gremlins in luggage land,

Playing dress up with our fine robes.

The red eye cuts through the night.

 

I stand too quickly

And fall back to soft earth.

Paradise is may be lost

But it’s a long way down.

Reviews

[Angela H.]

The red eye cuts through the night - good line!

Not quite sure what the thrust is here (pardon the pun) but I like the imagery.