launch a bottle in the sky might hear a little whistle but only if the cap is off half the fun is over softening at its peak the neck twists downward label gleams the sun the few drips of liquid; suspended gravity tugs at fate gaining speed now breath everywhere is held preparing for beauty the base strikes first sending a sheering slice of pain totally up the body and weakens the damaged frame fractions of a second pass and split glass blows outward fast label lands face down the few drips are free at last
