Week 3: Your Face and Plane Drifting to the Bottom

here is the companion ie inspiration from writing, conversations with this girl from the bar



in your eyes,
there is sadness,
a red light,
blinking and blinking
but no cars are stopping
in the midnight fog

so there are horns
there are sirens
there are loud gasps
as the waves recede
like the mourning of monks
that cannot chant as loud as
your heart
cannot mask its murmur
from what it is whispering in dubs
trying to swim through the subs

like sluggish snails creeping past you

while you
close your eyes
and drift off to sleep
the medication
is taking hold
the page of your latest novel
is folded over
your widow's peak
is wrinkled over

the pink cardigan is on its proper hanger
your green shoes
empty as the entropy
scattering your dialouge
while brushing your teeth
reflecting back
to your actions and
words you will say
on judgement day

not too soon ahead

as the airliner
plummets into
the middle of the british isles
drifting like castaways to the
bottom of the sea bed
your head pressed against the glass
your eyes open
gazing
trying
to feel
the air inside the bubbles
as you pop

the pressure too great
your body too fragile
lying in your seat

the cushion under your arms
the oxygen mask around your face
the seat belt attached

how fast you flew
as you knew

your nastiness was leaking out your ear
pleading,

"come home "