Dreams
in the air.

I remember
dreams in the air
across the atlantic
and back to tabula rasa.

Along carpeted aisles
an ineluctable smile carved
upon a head floating above seats
persistently emanates a yen
to proffer food, drinks and pillows.

OrtosHrIeK, "GET BACK TO YOUR SEAT!"
when one visits the lavatory too often.

When I slept. She saw.
She peered. Beyond the
dessicated drool and bodies
twisted into awkward comfort.

She remembers too often
the penchant and the longing
the disparity of time
and the distance of continents.

Gazing at windows staid
the air settled
and the music buzzed.

She walked
by me once more. Smiling Ineluctable.
She hides too well the inspidity of it.
We hide too well the irregularity of it.

I bought a ticket
to the other end of the circle;
a fast-foward and a leaving of pangs
behind. In the air, I dreamt. Whereby,
dreams in the air
are different, like smoke on
another plane.

Through the haze,
I saw a boy emblazoned in white.
Memories that often delude
in these dusty dreams, return
from burried depths
and quietly haunt.

In sweet rememberance.
A reminder of futility.
Just to pass from one continent to another.

I wonder if she feels it too.

As I awake to the sound of wind brushing
and the time passing.
A quixotic flutter in the stomach
tickles quickly and I sit-
only awaiting like a king for
breakfast to be served.

She appears with a trolley.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 9:08 am