6.45am airport starbucks, Lima

Without my pride I reach out the inside.
Stripped of all windows. No escape. The light and heat drips from the nose of my inner sense.
Working hard to keep the helmet on and not run my head into the pit of screaming widows.
Atrophy weighs in heavy. I am living memory and time dims on this watch. All is real 'nothing', the foe and friend of 'everything'.

Salted, broad crumbed cotton mouth.
Flocking coffee beans and backpacking bastards. Everyone is an orphan at the airport. slung, tired and waiting for the bus to take them to another frame.
I like the world of transit zombies and stiff necks. Crouched over there high screens and telepathic palms. Here we require a passport and metal checks to make sure we don't bomb an island of investment bankers and secretary zoos.
How many times can you imagine the plane to crash, burn, drown, As many times as you imagine the world to collapse into a slurppy callipso.
Holding on to death, like obese angels and crafty cheese makers. Elegantly spread over smiles, thick of dread. Clenching onto soft hopes and giant money bar dreams. The moment is anticipated, manifested, quilted , it comes and you are in a glare, fuzzed out over what the moment felt like before sunrise. now the moment has passed and did you get your cup full of sugar cane and deers, lying flat on belly potato sacks you re count the moments like lost bank accounts. Teary frog on turtle balls back. nature flooding in with drying lands, ice caped pain , and pleasure thick shakes.
When the center tree calls upon the wicked clock the fight for wrinkles will descend onto glossy croissants and satisfy the toilet cleaners wilted branch, where realities are flushed, bleached and feathered.