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Friday, November 24, 2006

That last time in airports

Jet Lag

I’ve lost the heading and there are no more seats going home,
conversations abrading around me until the air—that thin ocean—
tethers to a deeper ache than mere homesickness, grows leaden
with every woven fraying strand, every place becoming nowhere.

Disoriented, my compass rose petals dropped among a bramble
of chrome armrests and regulatory voice-overs, the locus here, and
there, and somewhere else again, my center gone centrifugal down
to some other destination where contrails skywrite a cuneiform of
time-mist-vector that detains the setting sun, prolongs the moonrise.

4 comments:

Refugee from Reason said...

If God meant man to fly...We stopped flying over the holiday years ago when it took 12 hours from LA to Phoenix and I'm not even certain we got there. Hope your Tgiving was a good one.

Stewart Sternberg said...

Nice stream-of-consciousness. Cold imagry. I like the note of desperation that emerges. The end, a little hopeful with the word moonrise.

Ernesto said...

i liked this very much. nice alliterations...

Knitting Painter Woman said...

Being tired or flu-y makes travel way too much of an adventure. I must say, though, that when I've had a not-so-nice airport experience, I am really happy to be snuggled into my own bed.
Lovely photographs.
I'd never had recognized the sardines... I still have doubts!