Flight 1400

 

We file in

And we are quick to fold up our tongues and hide our baggage like precious,

Life-saving drugs

Our personal Heroin.

 

We Taxi

And soon I will be swimming

Slipping through the pressure-hypnosis

In white-washed wrappings.

 

Edgy in our jewelry boxes,

We prick like sickly, pale yellow

Canary diamonds aligned on

A tight strip of silver.

 

They come like nurses

With pressed suits and starched prickle-collars

And stand like they’re wearing thistle underclothes.

 

They seem pleased to serve us our methadone

To ease the pressure-hypnosis

And soothe us into silence

Though our stomachs roar

Sickened like the be-labored engine.

 

I drink slowly from the plastic urine cup

And the stale, brown holiday brew

Aches like fire against my teeth.

 

The tinkling ice is flush against the invisible barrier.

I can hear it shrieking as its flesh is blemished brown

And drops off in pools.

 

My head spins

And Santa is mauled by a polar bear.

You’re wrong, it isn’t the journey

It’s getting there.

 

Reviews

[Rain]

I was lost, also. I know all about methadone, so looked for signs of it being a clinic. I can't get into your mind. I liked the words used, but I just couldn't connect them. Which doesn't mean a bad rating, just that it is foolish sometimes to enter the writers mind. Often they don't know why they wrote a certain line. Bob Dylan is famous for that, and he'll come right out and tell you..he doesn't know..it just fit and he used it. You should have put a little note that gave us a hint. You caused me to think. That's what writing is supposed to do. Rain..

[Dysis]

Very short and to the point. I like it. But yet again, I don't understand. But that's ok, you'll explain to me one day!