We can be heroes

My hero is a vulgar flyer:

a cynical mass of meat

who still believes

in romance, not like in books

but as in a tangle of

flawed limbs finding a way

to make living worthwhile,

usually with a laugh

and an arrow pointed inwards.

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A sweeping of color

to mask the deep green

of summer at dusk.

Friday is an old heavy window

falling on my fingers

because I can’t help

but fiddle with the view.