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There Is A Helicopter In My Pocket
After being scolded I sit isolated
In the corner of the room
I've been forever alone
Ever since coming out of the womb

I sit there quietly waiting
With nothing to reveal
Patiently with no words spoken
From life I file for a repeal

My pockets are empty
Not even a hint of last week's lint
With inquisitive blue eyes
I began to squint

Anticlimactic stories overshadow
Not even I, in a lover's quarrel
Letting my possessions be my climax
For you, a fifty-dollar oral

Contemplating yesterday's dreams
Among piles of discarded X's hearts
Kissing many leads into an abyss of nowhere
I diagram, I plot, I'm making my charts

Sailing the uncharted seas
These pockets vacant for your nest
Wind carries me forward afloat
Dime-less in function, I am put to the test

Hands covered in dirty graphite
Burying every minute of my conviction
Weapons known, discoveries unexplored
Back on my knees, it is my addiction

 2010 David Greg Harth