He was a toad catching flies
Except that with each lashing of his tongue
He pulled down aircraft
And long could be heard their cries:
Blessed be, Amphibian Creator!
Death to America!
Frog is greater!

Does your life
feel like a bad flight
on an airplane?

You saved and saved
to pay for first class
but got stuck in coach.

No matter where you went
or who you met
there was always turbulence.

And even that all-expenses-paid
dream vacation to paradise
went down in flames.

Μπλέ του πλοιου, μπλέ του αεροπλάνου
Και τα δύο θάνατος
Και τα δύο ταξίδι
Και στα δύο πνιγμός
Σπαραχτικός λιγμός
Τελευταία ανάσα
Τελευταία σταγόνα ουρανού
Ατέρμοτο γαλάζιο
Νερό και αέρας
Στοιχεία ατέριαστα
Στοιχεία τελευταίου ασπασμού.

I look down at the buildings below
Twinkling with celestial grace
And map the constellations
Of journeys to be

in holding silence,
a ripple of something smaller under the surface
i have never flown over bodies of water so large i could not see land over the horizon
holding my breath as i momentarily watched waves lap at sands i will never see in person
lips parted in a strange smile, still unaccepting of the reality encased in framed glass
assurance living under skin i still have yet to inspect in the mirror with its sharp corners
pinching past until blood vessels break and nails bite through further
flickering flashes ingrained behind closed eyelids
programmed performances repeated recorded in the chandeliers
twinkling lights reflecting refracting a dance of hands, memorized scripts

air becomes thinner as altitudes rise,
meaningless numbers to someone still choking on the sighs trapped in their own lungs
breathlessness tasting like ***** on tongues that drip in honey
beauty pressed between perfectly manicured fangs

in holding silence, in holding breath

air expands as altitudes rise
soon this fantasy will break like accidentally shattered ceramic plates
unreality sinking further into sore muscles and rattling ribcages
rinsed out with surface seawater,
clearing out the seared wounds that unbridled practiced passion
singe into hands not belonging to the celestial
sweat pooled like wax at collar bones
placing wicks atop ballooning lungs
waiting for the flame to reach the bottom

Girls in the airport
Are, for some reason, hotter
Than anywhere else

I wrote this on the plane,
With Julie London crooning in my ears,
The light of the lamp above on my face,
My feet propped against the panel front.

I wrote this on the plane,
Thinking of the clouds passing by,
In the depth of the night,
Like batman on the prowl.

I wrote this on the plane,
The front seats were free,
And so was I,
In the still  of the night.

I wrote this on the plane,
Way past everyone’s bedtime,
The ecstasy of the lilting tones,
The thrill of the shadows around and within me.

I wrote this on the plane,
Just feeling alls right with the world,
Just in that moment,
I could dream and feel closer to you.

Yes I could, Yes I am,
Stars fill the sky,  
And thoughts of us fill my moments too,
I feel joy,
So I wrote this on the plane.