DEEP BREATH

you tore me into

LITTLE STRIPS

I hung, on a broken stick

in rags and tatters,

a teeth-chattering scarecrow

on a rusty hook

my eyes torn holes

in a stiff black curtain flapping

pointlessly in space

smoke-blind,

rose-pricked,

sky-haunted,

pecked-at by thin black crows

seconds before the crash came

you pushed me out. Now,

as I pull the ripcord,

I prepare myself to float

down into the ripe

and ready butterflies

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more poems at http://www.chrisgregory.org/poems/poems.htm

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