TWA Terminal
The negative space of airports
The radial point of non-existence
All lines are stripped of serifs and the revolution begins
There is nothing concrete here
O, butterfly bitch
O, lonely pale ghost station
O, beautiful living thing
We are in the moment of perpetual future
As we flee the black and white silent movie past
We penetrate the revolution, its gates and Terminal 5
We pull up at the door of Idlewild now
Our feet step out onto the tarmac, onto the ground
O, Helvetica
Rabid frightened OxiContin, two Scotch flier
Eye rolling in neurosis or psychosis reacting to
Security running their girl fingers under your breasts and along your thighs
The overheard violated voice in your head
Your tiny announcements of
Please – please you to have
Your scanable face – showing
A circle of gapping open orifices
Unlike the passport visage
I stand away from JFK, I stand away from LaGuardia sucking down a joint
Open mouthed nude lip-gloss scream inhalation of
Languages you do not try to negotiate
No shampoo, perfume or water instead
Climate contained, air conditioned,
Bio domed, canonically shaped, cigar fuselaged, silver lipstick encased
Hermetically sealed tomb to shelter one – one's
Way
Away
Away
From here
TWA terminal,
Sometimes I forget the loneliness of motion
And the beautiful curve of the small of your back
Your butterfly wing flutters mad
As I return home to you
I return home to you
Where we exist now
Is nowhere as
Views from the gates begin to resemble one another
But for the clouds
Metamorphosis
And seasons change
As trees and life
In the periphery
Flora signifies a fiber difference in nationality
We arrive
We arrive at
Pulkova, Schiphol, Sheremetyov, Montego Bay, Copenhagen, Charles De Gaulle,
Heathrow, Wroclaw Strachowice, Warsaw, Helsinki-Vantaa, El Prat de Llobregat,
Barajas, Dorval, Granada, Leonardo Da Vinci, Vienna, Arlanda, Riga, Jean Lasage, San Juan,
LaGuardia, Newark, JFK
No negative space is more beautiful than you, my love
No difference compares to you, my love
I am departing Pulkova
I cry on the tarmac, on the threshold
I am coming home to you TWA terminal
As I depart, so I return home
*****
I hate you all, beautiful fucking bastards
I won't lie
I'm drunk as hell and
My wonderfully maintained façade of bullshit
Is cracking like old ceramic glaze
Make excuses for my alabaster ass should I embarrass myself
Falling down in front of a someone or a car in
A world of slow motion violence easily forgotten
I live in the
Sick music box echo of a violin voice
I live in the
Stored away doll house once owned by creepy little girls
Whose sticky tea party fingers manipulate
All my tea leaf prophesies
I am a dirty girl and you are a dirty boy
We nervously cast 1,995 lighthouse glances
Before selling ourselves for cheap taxi rates
Soon November in New York will wet me again
And I will come home bearing an empty hope-chest
Shielding my box of nothing from the rain
This love of the random dead
This love is an ignored rotted tooth
That remains there watching
Waiting to debilitate