He does airports well.
He stands with purpose and finality.
His voice stretches because it has to.
Like, his life depends on it.
He talks to me.
Just to me.
Like, Lee Harvey Oswald must've felt.
In that musical about Assassins.
I could dance with him singing in front of me.
To a simple empty chord being almost mindlessly vamped.
‘If we hadn't spent 10 years finding it.’
He does airports well.
So the planes will fly.
The passengers will sit.
And the birds will continue to wonder what it is that invades their God given skies.
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