1

Every American knows the ghost of Coney Island

we rarely though

contemplate

from this altitude

Icarus in the henhouse

 

2

Youth exists in the perpetual recognition of gravity

without consequence

the inhalation

the wingless

rotation

Ferris wheel mirage

spokes snowing white rust

over fields of the quieted midway

 

3

The only difference

between flight and falling

is distance

a rat’s labyrinth is a puzzle from above

I can see it

a ticking two dimensional clock

wound once and imperceptibly beginning to slow

 

4

The same silver watch

they give to retired racehorses

they will give you

the world from up here

on a chain

length untested

 

5

The mathematicians called a meeting

to declare I don’t exist

but I can count the distance

by my fists

from this sudden folly

to the shrinking squares of their many swimming pools

 

6

For a moment he floats with one hand reaching for the parking lot like it was a lock, turning

only a moment, leaving the wheel behind like a wall with no floor

a chlorine light, would-be beast from the sea: remember this

 

7

What substance etches the jumper like skywriting from a plane into the air?

He left a message trailing from his bare feet

perhaps a wish for wings

perhaps simply, “hello” written for something so big it only sees you as you’re vanishing

 

8

The ozone gasp of impact

I watch myself escape

but I do not/ but I will

when the wind stops blowing

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NATE MAXSON is a writer and performance artist. He is the author of several collections of poetry, most recently, The Whisper Gallery (Lit Fest Press, 2015). He lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.