The flight to Miami was delayed three hours
and I was in black. Customer service
ate Burger King French fries, applied
Nivea hand cream. It’s easy
to get irate. Could god smell my fake tan
when he said: There’s a 6:55
to Ft. Lauderdale. Take it. The traveler
in front was a white boy with dreads
and a wooden earring. I offered him
a granola bar if he’d let me cut.
I asked if his boots were vegan. He said:
No, they’re boots of Spanish leather.
He said: Customer service
is a capitalist microcosm.
He said: Jim Morrison died
at the same age as Kurt Cobain.
At eighteen I said those things too.
Through words, little gods pop up,
even in the late-teenage sections.
Isn’t that the way we remember history?
I just want to go part by part. I don’t think
there is a pattern to be found, but I like
the method of constructing tent poles
and refashioning fabric around them.
It’s very important to me
that there be a sense of unity.
It’s certainly not stopping
or holding on.