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The Aerial weigh
The Aerial neigh
To make Pegasus fly, you must sing to him; Anything. A ballad, a funk tune, an ode or a ditty. You don't have to stay in key, your voice can crack it's okay if you forget the words. And he'll fly; he'll let you on his back and he'll fly as long as you're sincere. Over the cities, back in time, providing a bird's eye view of the wars that comprise the history of the hemispheres, and the innocents who wrote songs among the debris and flames or sang traditional tunes. He, the horse, might ask for oats from time to time; it's not a burden, oats are always accessible, cheap or free, farmers have a reputation of generosity. And the flight will go on, over tundra, pyramid, meadow and gorge; free from wind burn and oxygen debt, sitting on the spine of one of the most beautiful animals literature ever gave us. The song you fueled him with strums. his aortic chords; he whinnies in Gershwin's Blue Rhapsody. Below lies Antarctica, jagged manifestations of guilt; foggy transparencies of matricide, fratricide, genocide. And then, an expense of sea, fills the peripheral, no saddle no spurs; A little do-re-mi is all it takes.