a poem for charlie t.

flight fright (w.i.p)

i.

when i looked out the window
of the moving greyhound bus,
there was a plane that
seemed to be frozen in midair,
big fat metal sparrow wings trapped
in a faulknerian sort of time zone.
it soon turned & took off, as if
that second between gravity and clouds had
been my own creation.

i read somewhere that if you catch 100 planes between yr hands
and make a wish, it will come true.
the plane looks different from my hand, like
i could close my fist, and crush every-
thing and everyone on board. It
makes me nervous that my
life will soon be suspended
on a string-
cradled by a child's palm.

ii.

a kind american couple
told me not to worry.
they were headed towards iceland
for their honeymoon-
"i never flew before i met him,
and now i've traveled all over the world."
she smiled and grabbed his hand,
as if that was going to comfort me.
of course, if you die today, you'll be in the arms of
the one you love.
i have too much to live for:
there's a whole other time zone to travel too,
and what the hell is in iceland anyway,
other than glaciers and blonde stewardesses
who remind me of swedish models named frieda.
seeking comfort, i welcome jeff mangum's kisses on my eardrums
and hope for sweet dreams amongst the fat puffy atlantic clouds.