Crank (Crank 1)

like a famished butterfly. No nurture,

no nourishment left for Kristina.

A vacation is a poor substitute

for love.

Two Hours into the Flight

Albert snored, soft

as a hummingbird’s

hover. His moody

smile suggested he’d

found his Genevieve,

just beyond time

just beyond space

just beyond this continuum.

I watched his face,

gentled by dreams,

until sun winks off

the polished fuselage

hypnotized me,

not quite asleep

not quite conscious

not quite in this dimension.

I coasted along a

byway, memory,

glimpses of truth

speed bumps

within childish

belief,

almost ultimate

almost reliable

almost total insanity.