Skylark

Trying to clear my head,
my eyes shot through with work,
I notice this web of purple scaffolding under the ceiling.
I dream of pulling it apart and ripping open the roof, then
launching like a skylark
into the atmosphere,
cold air and warm sun pushing into my skin,
the ground a dot,
my skull sucked clean of thought by velocity,
and in its place,
nothing but the sky.