Non-Erotic PoetryMorse CodeThe planes come in like morse code
(dot, dash, dot, what are you
telling me?) resolving into
gaudy crucifixes passing overhead,
tubes full of happiness and stress, just like
life really--are there good deals,
marriages, love, hope, new
life on board? But, breaking air, they
vanish over the horizon—
dash, dot, dash—their
message undecrypted.
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