• run away to gray beaches,
    runway to the sky,
    hide under driftwood
    from far away places,
    crashland onto islands
    where the old stars die.

    i want to string together
    beads and glitter and starlight,
    and make tinkerish necklaces,
    and set free all of the dead pilots.

    the curled up wet ones
    who died like they were born.