pilot school

i used to want to fly an angel 
into the dish washer
so that i could be a chalice.
as children,
we would stand & count planes
as they crashed 
into the quarry. in flight
a body is turned into a private heaven.
do not let me land. teach me
what kind of skulls 
helium balloons carry.
my last girlfriend tried
to become an angel. she stood outside
every single day with a lighter
in her mouth & a sigil painted
on her back. she said,
"it's too expensive to become
a pilot." her goggles. 
the rushing winds. she stood there
all through a hurricane & a blizzard.
we do so much waiting 
for the stars to align. only,
the stars have never once aligned.
instead, they are the crooked tooth garden.
i do not have a solution
other than to remove any thoughts
of birds. i dig a neck-deep hole & stand in it.
there, i am flying. from the plane window
i drop little butterfly wings worth
of wishes. call the earth a well.
i put on my angel costume. 
throw the dishwasher in the yard 
with the other vortexes. 
feed the black hole a wedding ring
to keep it happy. 
against all odds,
i have not lost hope of aviation.