Local Whirl

Let us cure what humping brown air
does for you. Fluttering with tools is one
way to champion the afterlife. I prefer
the written document with a clear
protective case for safety while reading.
During all the mornings I stood facing
the highway, I was able to dodge the sloppy bits
in a cycle of woe that was easy to dismantle. You
are protected from the slow slug of dawn
by a feathered mask a friend loaned you
before the crash. Grind into the local whirl
while being lit so precisely that your eyes ache blue.
I will bend for you, even break for you.
All the days are wobbly because the center
where the spindle goes through the disc
is off center. You are such a star, but your equation
is zero. You stop, look up, and sigh.