Cradle Blade

Six degrees 
All kiltered off
The landing strip
Of duct-tape pale
Concrete runways
The dust-devil pilot
Steers like a newborn 
Cupid
Stapled
To a roller coaster
On the fritz
Tantrum speckled
Leaning closer
To the finish line
A striped and yellowed
Dictator
On the cold, oily streets
And momentum
Like a heart
Sputtering oxygen
Can be soothing
In its own right
The chaos 
Of the crystals
And the silvery 
Eyelashes
Wink to the 
Car exhaust
Before melting
Under rubber 
Soles