Broken Hearted Savior

You go through life screaming,
gladhanding
and politicing,
piling on

lingo to gather votes on the promise
some topic
with your tonic
gets a hearing.

I opt out of that logic, coiling, instead
like a snake, or
a glass of pinot,
insistent like a hangnail.

You ride first class for the optics.
I’m the GPS
and the horizon,
cockpit instruments.

You hang, fretfully unaware, in mid-air
dangling, clinging
to nothing. I know
where we’re landing.

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