/lit/ - Literature

>>6712289
>>6712316

(2.1/12)

Book I

My position was falling low over the Southern sky.
Pockets of calm had caressed the underwings of my airplane
lulling the wings nod off in routine supplication,
subjecting the silver craft to rigorous turbulence.
Ten or so more units of pressure to break the stress treatment
welded onto her joints, then we all go into free fall,
one in acceleration, young and old, the corpulent and emaciated,
as the feather and the brick...

My innards swelled with another surge in aerodynamics… I was up again.
That was the only deep sleep I could attain in my current position,
that sleep in which the serotonin causes your own senses to roll
a rapid-eyed freefall of their own…

I guess my emotions and my sense of self-preservation still hadn't contrived yet.
I lifted my head off of the back of the other seat.
There is no space for adjustment at all
against the dusty periwinkle of an economy class seat...
It had gained its grout with the attainment of miles of domestic sky,
maybe some foundation from the wispy crags of a former menopausal episode.

One whose eyes reflected such upholstery had been sighted…
easy as living in that time, a long-lost Acquaintance had appeared on my way home there.
She sat afront me with sated maturity already emblazoned on her jaded face...
Had I minced a hello, she'd have released a demure relapse of our Education,
for she had never seen me in such clothing before,
or had even remembered in turn of any of my recent decisions
that wound me up in her scenario...

As the other two of her Triumvirate weighing in lead me A to B to C,
my countenance felt obligated to melt cast lead type once more...
Two had talked of greener transactions on the glucose vignettes of their
so forward-oriented minds
immolating in their compulsory expenditure
as their last responsible action...
Their bright glimmer, their perennial gurgle,
product of a previous flight exhumed,
from a time when my current role was as relished
as the murky-sweetened streams
had abounded in their own autotrophoic Dream...

My head could only fear pressure that should have ruptured my homeostasis
while tinnitus restimulated brisk in my ears
by the incessant jet of comforting air in-vessel.
The tense trill of the digital riffs had shorn my memory
from the scene to a damned shrill meadow, released through the surge
of every metal-forg’d blade that only came on a cognitive lapse…
they rippled serene on a long-consumed artificial wind…
I was going deaf to the fixtures on board my experience,
and my equipment was deteriorating to steely irrelevance
'til I might right myself in my reality again...

I had an aisle seat to everyone elses' stupor,
and no induction on my part
could possibly change this community
'til I colluded toward the jet set
with their inheritance to me,
God forbid I tamper with the continuity already in movement…
My faux mead verberated according to the turbulence in its shallow plastic holder.

(cont.)