Rolling scissors vertical
waiting for your engines to quit,
yours spit thousand pounds
against fiber glass,
mine, flumes and feathers as tight as
they will go.
Frames howling.
Hoods of hats witches off,
gatlings ready to light a candle
against the dark. Fiberglass versus aluminum.
as we spiral up. Masked mathematics
against shear ratios as the stars come out
in daylight.
Who will brake first?
Out of air, our concerns turn toward
survival.
Twin flat spins.
Control. And full afterburn. And flares,
just in case
trigger happy missiles launched along the way
are watching the descent and
finding a home
in the hot beds,
of our misfiring engines.
