time travel
on a plane again a pastel lady beside me with her crochet hook and fluff i wake from a strange dream stuff in which airstewards flit floating and fey in the nosmoking/rookverbode lavatory i laboriously try to erase my tired face but the champagne i drank has left me dry and wanting meanwhile the plane auditions for a bump and grind and gets the part and with a start i realise i'm midway across the atlantic again sinking in a soup of thoughts in my head things jostle bumper cars bashing about backing into the future while racing toward the past i'm half here half there and yet not anywhere and i wonder isn't it strange why can't i master the present and just be where i am for a change
