MY FLIGHT MEDALLIONS
Grown yellow now with time, they
seem of another world: star ace, fighter
pilot, high-scorer of too many hits.
Dogfights of the sullen heart.
-
What was I doing there anyway?
A trickle-down infusions of a less
than steady hand : ping, the controls,
slip, the sight-glass hazy, a lunge
for nothing, but an unsteady start?
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