Flight, Robert Newman

Judith Nelson, Handstrike, 1985, 22X26

Flight

 

every time I have the same panic
when the plane screams up toward the clouds
its shakes and rattles imposing the air
like an ugly tourist ignoring local customs
shoving loudly through the creamy vapor
which forgives and forgets its intrusion
every time my pulse collects in a corpuscular shiver
and tears through the rational blanket I flutter over it
the pilot says light chop
and I see my thigh torn loose
singed and washed in smoke
a black and pink comma on the ground
every time the bald heads before me
bulge, bubble, and explode
hats and glasses sneeze into the cabin
thunder seizes me and I’m rushed into a mirror universe
where I’m left pinned and twirling
like a five-pointed star

______________________
Robert Newman

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