Air, Plain


Ushered down a narrow chute
we surrender ourselves
again to technology.
Recycled air,
belongings binned,
a mile high,
cutting through clouds–
Funny how substantial
they look from the ground.
We’re surrounded
by molecules of moisture.
We’re  condensating–
from one state of mind
to another.

We’re flying.

We’re flying!

If only our forefathers
could see us,
more carton of eggs
contained in plastic and metal
than human beings.
Would it shatter their
romanticized idea of
ethereally sailing through cerulean,
as flying shattered our romanticism of
the clouds?


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