Friday, November 07, 2014


Standing in the airport line
at the Bukowski Counter-
luggage thrown in the heap,
pilots and flight attendants
dead drunk fucking in a pile
over by the window.

It may not matter-
the airline outsourced the engines
to a plane in China.
That ticket buys
the concept of a flight,
not an actual destination.

They’ll tell you that
destinations are over-rated.
The journey is where the fun is,
and the journey starts in your mind.
Be happy with that explanation-
the ticket was non-refundable.

Travel was always like this,
there were no Glory Days of flying.
It was always oil stains on the tarmac,
the smell of jet fuel,
an anonymous line sitting rumpled
at the bar, sipping a dream.

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