Airplanes And High Views

Time becomes meaningless

Up there. Where the clouds

Seem flipped, upside

Down.

There aren’t any birds,

Just cold blue and

The hint of space.

Starless space.

Night comes without ceremony

Following silently a meal

Which turns the stomach.

The lights go out, save

Those which announce

The lavatory to be

Occupied, and insist

You wear your seatbelt

During turbulence.

Too many people,

Trapped together in a

Metal tube, shift in

The dark, attempt to

Sleep. Most succeed;

I do not. Instead I

Watch films, or move

Restlessly. But it’s cold

Up there. In the

Pitch black night,

Suspended in time.

I shiver and

Twitch with cold, tiredness,

Sickness. It’s bleak

Up there, above the

Sky.