Little aeroplanes zoom through my mind.
Words jet off my tongue. No control.
A thousand a minute.
It’s thought traffic, you know.
Baggage? How much?
I have several suitcases.
Stock-full of complexes.
No antioxidant emotions allowed on this flight.
Self-preservation is sold though. Duty-free too.
I have been paying extra tax for years anyway.
There is no passport control for your soul.
I know who you are even if you don’t.
Don’t wear sunglasses and you’ll get through.
Eyes are little pothole windows.
Don’t you see?
Looking through them
everything seems far, far away.
Love is a land I travel through sometimes.
My heart is a nomad, you know.
But right now it’s time to fly.
To soar through cloudy lovers.
To ride through the skies of my imagination
and wonder what I am to do when
my pocketful of tickets get all used up.
And hope it doesn’t happen
after my pride runs out of fuel.