Aeroplane flight at night time
reduces my enmity like distilled
and decanted crushed citronella, repulsing
my day-flight phobia as a rogue insect
Whom I assure that he will one day take
to the ball, and he will meet her parents.
The electronic cling of low-light
and sparse occupation of seating,
Together with pilots flying partizan
to sooth-saying makes me curl. The
prowling power of jet propulsion
in taxiing restraint makes me bury my
Ear into the seat, reminiscent of the
thunderous bellow of rushing blood
heard when holding close the radiant
thigh of a healthy lover in her sleep.
Body's blood is wild with pulsing mania
like a beer tent in Casablanca -
Even of an early morning, and the
anonimity of noisy market streets
Compares to blood propelling turbine
security. I hope my flight will be
hijacked by archangels. His slick
African frame supports a dozing
Beauty, her arms locked around his neck
By a gilt Chinese wrist-trap.
Uriel pleads clemency, angels
may not love nor terrorise tourists.
'Let me fly with you, right-on is right-on?'
The cross armed scowl inside white
Super-machine, not yet considering the
Cosmic scandal his just passion has cooked.
He could split the clouds for one
thousand miles and sear the sky in two
but his human beau needs to breathe and rest,
So he circumvents with a gin and Schweppes.
His six wing albatross span belies the
terror in his eyes, hunted by angry
warrior and messenger for his crime of
Love with a Sicilian acid headed thing.
I look at him, though, 'preddy eyes'
I think like Marlowe. I know that they
are just the centre of a cyclone,
That this Cleopatra would have him
Swim the river between her lungs
and pull the trigger cocked by the undead.
So I look out at night-woven clouds
And course the sky like a red blood cell
Created: Sep 14, 2009Document Media