Archive
11/16/12
Time and I Fly
Whenever I decide to take leave of my ordered normalcy, Take a take-it-as-it-comes vacation from my writerly routines, Take off, into the skies, fly away,
I'm so overtaken with inordinate freedom that I get agitated, Energized with a feeling of excitement Mixed with fright that metastasizes out of my growing anxiety,
Which, if not notifying my psyche, at least puts me in mind That dying might be a consequence of my going, Never coming home a distinct possibility.
Decidedly, violently, the night before and morning of my flight, I try, hopelessly, haplessly, to extinguish the flames Crackling, like St. Elmo's fire, along my nerves' frayed sheaths.
By the time I arrive at the airport, endure and survive security, Buckle my body into a midget-scaled highchair, And implausibly, impossibly defy gravity, in the Trojan Pegasus,
I'm fit to be untied, fly the coop, at Mach's warp speed, be there, Disprove death's presence, dismiss its autopilot existence, Even as it breathes up my neck, over my shoulder, down my back,
And send it packing, back to its lair, DOA, in a carry-on body bag, So that, for the next however many days, I can relax, Forget to fret over the eventual inevitability of my mortality,
Completely put my distressed obsession at rest, forever, for then, Reassuring myself that I just might get out of my life alive, If only I decide not even to drive home but walk, every time I fly.
11/16/12
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