Tuesday, October 07, 2008


I dream in an airplane
And I found my pistols
Stored under my seat
And this makes me
A little nervous

I study the other passengers
All of them have
Guns under their seats

Suddenly a middle class
Anglo-Saxon American
Tells me he wants
To trade his place
For my seat
He says he wants to sleep

I say

He explains that
I will be better
In his position

I say

He insists adamantly
With the tenacity of a use car salesman
And I find myself at the point
Of utter anger
Since he’s such a bother
I grab my pistols
And tuck them in my boots

I am escorted by beautiful
But exhausted women
(I don’t find the desire
To impregnate them
With my offspring)
Towards a door
That looks like a mattress

They open the door for me
And say: welcome
I enter to what some
Claim is first class
With its casinos
And movie theaters
Pretty girls and
Clean bathrooms
Neon lights
Near the ocean

I look for a parachute
And there is none
If this is called flying
Then I want to
Kiss the earth

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