Cold Sky Above, Crashing Sea Below

You told us 
your life
was going to be
                           
a dead run 
or a dead stop,

“and absolutely nothing else!”

Then you smashed 
down the pedal
and held it there
                           
until all your 
haughtiness 
(and the highway) 
was gone. Well, 

you won't need  
cigarettes or gas
where you’ve gone: 

cold sky above, 
crashing sea below,

and absolutely nothing else.

Farewell, farewell 

(idiot), 

farewell.
This poem originally appeared in Issue #4 of In-Flight Literary Magazine 
published in July 2015 by the Paper Plane Pilots. Tell 'em I sent you.
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