Bobby Taylor: Lift

Spring '14 TOC

The component of the total aerodynamic force acting on an airfoil or on an entire aircraft or winged missile perpendicular to the relative wind and normally exerted in an upward direction, opposing the pull of gravity: lift. (

When the air above moves faster than the air below: lift.

I’m shaping my wings, now that spring is here, I don’t fear the cold as much: lift.

And when those voices say that I am trapped in some yesterday, when they crowd in on me while dancing in their Easter clothes: lift.

Drive me down into the ground? No. I’ve grown there before; I’ve torn out my roots running from that hammer on my head. The faces, the tiny me in retreat, No, that will not work: lift.

Whether it be Jesus or Buddha or Ginsberg or Hank Williams or Van Gogh; or coffee or masturbation or calculations or predestination: lift.

With big metal forks that move under two ton palates wanting them placed somewhere else; the hydraulics working, the battery sending out its power to the point of transference: lift.

And these anti-humans, with their bloat and their blame, blasting past the gospels in their chariots of gold leaf – trying to impress the crowd – they notice if you’re loud: lift.

Lift me out
            by my own power
                        in these last hours
                                    of bondage to, through, and true –
                                                Lift me, Sift me, Riff me like a jazz break on a Saturday night
                                                with nothin’ left to lose
                                                nothin’ but the blues
                                    and a whole lot of chains around my neck and back and ears and nose and mouth



Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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