Horizons

Looking out the window
On the long flight home
I mentioned the flatness of the horizon
You told me it was curved
And accused me
Of a lack of perception
(Or perspective- I forget which)

Like insubstantial clouds
Your superiority slipped away
As the years rushed past
And now there’s nothing beneath
This wasted skin
This waste of skin

So if I bury you deep
Into my subconscious
I can see the curve of the horizon.