Flight Poem (Out Edits)

Love demands a creative response.

Something like a month long Benzedrine stupor shaken off into a letter-splattered swathe of paper or poorly interpreted Kerouac references (sentences) typed into the glow at five am.

Sorry i mentioned it.

Thinking of planes.

Planes of existence and then a plane with her embedded in it.

A hundred thousand million planes, any planes, and then one specific plane with one specific person in a scene i couldn’t possibly manage to describe.

A scene I’d never seen before until the dream i dreamed right before I wrote this down.

A toughness of inside (so essentially hers) erased in this awkward fold of words.

How she is so easily displaced, as a character sketch, as a long shot from above. Me zooming in on her as the roof makes way for the camera and she remains the unaware center of attention, the subject of my lack of description.

I drew a scale in my mind measuring me and her and then i fell off one side of it.

I was heavier or lighter, either way, she was more, better, beyond.

This was in my mind and in my mind the metaphor is gone before its fully developed but the image stays. Her above fifteen, twenty, twenty-five thousand feet of atmosphere, her above ocean and land, her encapsulated under one cheap plastic light, marking clean white paper on a tray pulled from the seat in front of her, a seat holding one, any, many different people, on a plane of strangers i can’t imagine but try to, one, two, three hundred people of all shapes and sizes, a few, some, most talking a particular brand of talk (greek), and her in the middle of it flying (flying!) in this world and not the one I copy into the computer at 4, 5, 6 am.