words like beginning and ending are not helpful
the way algae waves its arms underwater
the taxi you’re not sure is dreaming
in the steam of the city night
could be here for you could be
here for no one an airport
nothing but another
of night’s paperweights
people coming in and out
of dark strips
all night long
buttering up the stars
I don’t ask for the night’s permission
to speak to it.
But I do feel like a book spine that has broken off,
as I sit in this plastic eggplant chair
in an airport that is trying to support me
like an uncomfortable afterlife.
I like the way language always feels like.
It is getting somewhere. It feels
like waking up. Getting lighter. The smack of dawn.
Against your back.
The dream that ends when you wake up.
Is not insignificant. Think.
It is like an airplane
going down. Because you woke up.
All those unreal people you were.
They are suddenly on a plane going down
because you have to go to work.
You senseless monster, go back to sleep.
Rescue their unreality!
Your boss will understand.