the planet dirigible


the smoke from the cigarette in the mouth of a 10-year old boy
whose father disappeared sometime last week
consumed and exhaled and left for dead
in the cold night air above the corner on Bradford and Hathorne
where infrared angels play freeze tag in the street
witnessing the world’s decay into eternal silence
rising into the atmosphere among the ozone and CFC’s
battered by ultraviolet radiation and cosmic rays
emitted by a distant dark nebula over a million lightyears away
always descending in its crescendo, but nevertheless bulging around the edges
laughing as if there were anyone around to hear
other than the chemical-spewing engines of the aeroplane below
cruising at an altitude of twenty-five thousand feet
over the lands of an oppressed nation
whose subjects lie on the brink of revolution
demanding a voice of their very own, if only they could think for themselves
if only they knew they were the cause of an ensuing nuclear war
which erases from existence the subconsciousness of half a billion people
in one day
one...
tomorrow, the half billion to be buried and replaced with new specimens
awaiting daylight to open their eyes to the world around
and make the gray-matter materialistic dreams in their brains real
where their ancestors’ souls are long-since dead and forgotten
their bodies have become the foundation for a skyscraper of infinite height
projecting skyward into a great expanse of uncharted space
above the pocket of smoke spiraling downward into a lonely city
population twenty million
downward into the street next to the retirement community
where ultraviolet angels glimmer and linger to recruit the new arrivals
returning home
to the breath of a 50-year old man with a cigarette in his mouth
lying on the ground, eyes shut, arms flailing
upon inhaling his final goodbye
mixing with the black paint slathered upon a lung canvas
and the tar-infested shadow-clump of cells resting peacefully in the darkness of itself...




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