Skylark

Written 23 May 2013

Trying to clear my head,

my eyes shot through with work,

I notice this web of purple scaffolding under the ceiling.

I dream of pulling it apart and ripping open the roof, then

launching like a skylark

into the atmosphere,

cold air and warm sun pushing into my skin,

the ground a dot,

my skull sucked clean of thought by velocity,

and in its place,

nothing but the sky.