takes off in my head.
I act goofy on the couch
and I’m embarrassed after
three and a half
years. It feels good.
I hope the airplane doesn’t crash.
It’s Monday and I’m not
interested in process.
In his head I’m a lemming
about to fall off a cliff.
He laughs. And his laptop
nearly falls off his lap.
We watch movies. The Gift
of the Tattered Couch. The
Scrape of the Beard. An Ode
to Old Wounds. A dying man
goes to visit his grandmother.
He walks into the woods
and to the ruins of an old treehouse.
His childhood is gone.
He’s bitter about that.
And then he dies.
That’s the truth of life.
The airplane flies
out of my head.
And I’m in it.
We cross an ocean for lunch
and bring home an ice cube
for a souvenir.
