Catapult

Catapult me straight across the skyline
beyond starlight and atmosphere,
and the blur of buildings and lights.
The breathlessness of great heights
shoots adrenaline straight, no chaser,
to tear through me on a mission
through all the branches,
fueling a mind like a treehouse of veins.
It’s the place that carries me on
down the same old roads 
when it all goes wrong.

“Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, soldier.”
Bootstraps or the bullet;
the eventual mantra of the forsaken,
of a heavy mind
and shards of a heart shattered.
To mend the broken limbs,
being baptized by the southern wind
and reminded of treasures that actually matter.

So I inhabit and sculpt the night.
I am a keeper of charms and chains.
In dusky hours I outstretch wings
through the glowing Baltimore harbor I haunt.
I sing that old song about how
“you don’t always get what you want”.
I choreographed this dance
so trust I believe
and know the value of an honest love
and being what you need.