This poem was recently revised, and due to formatting problems has been re-posted out of chronological order. 

Free-Fall

Nov 19 2007

A beginner

you are not allowed to free-fall.

Just the wind, blasting past your ears,

and your heartbeat like a Gatling gun

as the ‘chute snaps full,

jerked to a stop

as if shot from a howitzer.

Then a guillotine of silence drops

as you float slowly down,

dandelion fluff

tick-tocking under the canopy.

You are a junkie for the adrenaline rush

in this cramped cold fuselage,

pistons throbbing noisily

waiting to break free.

To tumble down

like an acrobat on speed.

Like a master of jiu-jitsu,

using the power of the wind

against it.

Performing spins, and flips

with your finely tuned hands,

so fast

the air is thick, and pliable.

The earth is a speck

growing relentlessly larger,

a patchwork of brown and green and fallow land.

Then a cow, grazing contentedly.

Now the tops of trees

a field of green

a blade of grass

a scream.

Until, at last,

you’ve fallen free.