We experience air.
We experience hang-time.

We close our eyes
and consciousness peels a pear.

It wonders for a moment
where it left its keys

before realizing there
is nowhere left.

The key’s point of view
is our only point

of view for three, two,
one . . . we peel

the pear right down
to its underinflated


Wires and birds

               are dirty cheaters.
I’ve been bracing

for impact
               for years,

               the handle bars
               never quite centered,

               every muscle clenched.
A rattling skull.

A skeleton world.
Made of flags.

~ ~ ~
ArmstrongGlen Armstrong holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He also edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters.