Paper Plane

I ride on a paper plane
From morning till night.
I glide through the fusty, peanut smelling mouth
Of every subway.
My plane cruises through the winds that I swallow as air
And it hardly crashes and folds.
It bears many letters on it-
Discarded draft of an attempted masterpiece
It flies and flies and flies
Through the city of dust and smoke.
It's wonderful;
How a mob of it can inject a dose of hope within you.