Plane

Well, what can we really do
at the end of the day,
aside from stapling our sorry sacks
to a sphincter of solidarity?

Ooh, that’s nasty. I shouldn’t be
unleashing such filth when
children
possessing such youth
are within earshot. I remember–
back when I was a child–when
that kind of filter just wasn’t
present in my mind’s eye.

I indeed regret that I didn’t
have the temerity to tell folks
(and, indeed, even my parents)
how their off-color language
off-put me. Every damn,
dang and darn chopped into me
like a rusty old hatchet–and
let’s not even mention
those other four-letter doozies.
But those were different times;
I was 23 then.
I’m 27 now, and my perspective
has matured magnificently.

What changed, you ask? Something
about my regular reading of
horoscopes and astrological charts
allowed me to unpack
my cognitive dissonances, yet
left me wanting more
from the universe and the planets
and the alignments and the
what have you. Is it all there
as a way of making us feel
more comfortable not knowing
the grand scheme of things,
a la benevolent overlords?

I reckon if we can’t truly see
the full picture, we might as well
get as large-scale
as we possibly can
while affixing as much
mathematical logic to it,
keeping in mind that everything
is more likely than not
an amalgamation of chaotic particles
flinging themselves at one another
at variable rates, and we’re
the unnecessary end result.

See, these are the kinds of thoughts
that can be had without
such a potty mouth! Now, if only
our president
could understand that, we’d be
in much better shape. But
you know what? I’ll leave
that speculation to the birds.
What kind of birds, you ask?
Gee willikers, I don’t know!
You pick one! I guess
I’m partial to crows
at the moment,
though I do like them egrets
and fincher-pinchers.

Okay, you got me, fincher-pinchers
aren’t actually animals—
that we know!

Well, at least in this plane.
There are no fictional
passerine passengers
allowed on flight #38674-012
to Fallas-Dwort Earth.
Truly.

Pill Box of Shame – 15:23GMT

Pill box of shame, submit to taxi dreams of leather quarters, hear?! Accepting the quotation margin of the small-minded mink stole party is only half of the equation. Forfeit a couple sidewinders for a shrimp on the barbie; you’ve lost your butter balloon figure. Exact your vengeance upon a bladder of light gas. What’d it do to you, you ask? Floated around my face and laughed at me, it did, told me I couldn’t fly. I popped that jackal crackler right then and there.

Is that why I wound up in here? Because I popped a damn balloon?! No, that can’t be it. But then again, I wouldn’t put it past you, you arbitrary—glorious, all-knowing—overlords. Good one, guys. So hey, would you mind pumping some music into this cell? Something avant-garde would be downright decent of ya.

I really wish I could use my arms.

Bridge – 13:19GMT

Where did our sense of longing go off to, anyway? I could have sworn there was more to this bridge than the water below and the people on top, but I can’t seem to find any examples of anything other than structural soundness.

Come on, I’m tired. Do you have any idea how much energy I expend just from trying to suppress panic attacks on a regular basis?

It’s somewhat unnerving to think that a troll could come up and overtake any and all of us for the sole purpose of being scary. We wouldn’t learn anything new, we wouldn’t even make any friends in the process. We would just be scared into abandoning our cups of coffee and kicking our way through the hospital doors in a fit of hysteria, unable to be calmed by anybody, save our biological parents–possibly aunts and uncles.

Do you even have aunts and uncles, my most highly-exalted overlords? Or did evolution do away with the necessity for tribalism?

Peace in a toboggan tobacco chewer is all I want to ask for these days, but I can’t quite come to negotiate in the right manner anymore. I don’t know if I’m getting rusty or if I’m just tired right now, but I’m definitely sick of not knowing how to proceed. After all that worrying, don’t you think we could afford a little sit-down in the park, feeding the ducks that waddle by?

I miss being able to do those things. Do you guys ever feed the ducks?
I really wish I could use my arms.

Insistent Lights – 20:00GMT

Obtrusive flickers on sultry skies–
who makes them, and what’s the deal?
A thread can weave a coat,
a person can build a library,
a consciousness can dismantle matter.

So, why the insistent lights?
It feels like a plea for alliance.
Are we meeting up with our cosmic brethren
once and forever? What will it take
to bring our existence to the galactic standard?

Disengage distractions devised to disrupt
the true creative process–fragment output
and label it in as many ways as possible
without waxing trivial.

Choices dissolve ambition and the joy of making.
Then time comes in, the ultimate limiter
of consistency and connectivity.

However minute everything may seem,
there may likely be reasoning
behind even the most pointless roadblocks.
GO TO BED
is what the oppressor tells its obedient tenants.

I really wish I could use my arms.
I always wake upon the wrong side of the floor.

The Hendersons

We have to bring with us
a time that smells like
the grand representation
of polychromatic measures

for any and all underachieving
squirrel mongers we’ve come
to know and love. Some things

are better left unexplained
by our grand cynics, and I’ll
need you to take the kids
for a walk before bedtime.

If you could scrape a few
dollars together to get
some ice cream, that would go

a long way toward pleasing
our benevolent overlords
(the Hendersons).