I apologize.

But I will be unable to comment

On the delicate matters at hand…

At least until

The electric dislodges from my skin,

And the panic stops attacking

From my blind-side.

You see,

My stomach is of the opinion

That I am

Seventeen stories above the ground

And about to hit the drop.

And you’re angry voicemails

Just aren’t helping

To expedite this flight.