by Charlie Fox
Part One
En route to LaGuardia, chaos ensues.
Bloom in a hot-pocket, me in a hot sock. Air weary, we’re airy.
Consubstantial evidence of a de-icing system malfunction (agent orange, orange alkaline).
Consubstantial evidence that a radio host is manning this airplane. Orange hair, hair orange.
“Sorry folks, these things do happen.”
Diversion to Washington Dulles, D D. C C. Forward mail forward backslash. Stow your tables and your bombs
and your seat backs tonight.
Throw away your cu—
Throw away your ice!
Throw away your orange.
Organic evidence of orange contamination (agent derivative 33.1, focus 1). Consubstantial proof of interference in prime locations of Value 1: left wing. Value 2: wing right.
“Sorry, folks, these things do happen.”
Evidence of weariness. Ice weary, ear icy.
Clouds of ice are icy conditions,
calvados metal careening imperceptibly
through sheet of cloudrock and ice
water. stow away your abilities. Oceans of water and ice
Insides racketing—plumettation.
Light ricochets. I look out the window and see
freckles down there.
Lilac Lanes and Lily Whites.
Dickinsons, Dulleses, Safeties.
Dulles in 15. In 10 9 10 to 15 minutes.
Evidence of rejiggering in icy condiggering and yet two giant lights below
and a wash of goldthread
weaving through moorskin.
Consubstantial with the mother, ornery onion earth. Cooking fields and raw cabbage. Breaking down power lines and gulping oceans to make way for two more. Yogic Tantras could not remedy this shenpa; plane must fall to earth, must re-fuel and de-ice and de-ice while we refuel and fumes of sodium and southern ice makes someone think we are running on those small, crunchy, mini-pretzels.
Cracking of the plane’s wheels. Real time
Wheeeeeling until gravity moors us
to the moor. I like the sky. I hate the moor.
I am moor like IaGo.
Unfurled unlessened unbeknownst unheavened—
Dulles.
Part Two
And He created the singular world,
The stars are angels, capricorn pancakes.
And I am I and we are we are we.
Capricorn canopy, blood scone above
stone that is above us and is beneath us.
Streetlights sprawling like amoebas below.
My eyes blink from shore —to shore—to darkshore.
black water between see dark sea salt cold
dunk.
And I think you’re amazing from up here.
This technology’s amazing from up here.
a masterpiece that cannot once be stopped
Or evaluated, unscienced, rejigged—
but only is as is and is fore’er.
And earth is not a sin but singular,
Mars the Götterdämmerung at Bayreuth;
the damn neo-nazis could get there first, yes.
and plant a crimson swastika in the dirt.
Mars, rise like Manhattan. And as we blink
in a greeting ceremony no one will remember,
‘Cross the abyss that is where air is not
and is becomes instantine,
I cry.
And even in this cataclysmic urn
I can hear you across waves and shores and moors.
We’re online and I yell to you, Jesus!
The Son’s name His One and Only’s name.
I am and I am and I am and I—
I’m she and we are we and He is he.
Dang’rous turbulence ensues en our route.
Then Manahatta: our mars. I love you.
As the turbulence shifts
Initiate a wisp of a cloud of mist and a whisper
of a sky and a sky with the multifarious, risk-taking stars and our eyes saying you, JESUS, you,
child of the Universe. Be the risk,
Be the remedy.
Be the oblong goodnight eterna quiete. The Spring Awakening; Laviniaque venit / litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto / vi superum, saevae memorem Iunonis
ob iram,/ multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem;
Remember romance
when you reach
the moon.
Orange light seeps through the clouds below age: orange
one light lost like an earthly Drinking Gourd.
Are we already there?
No. “For the old man is awaiting to carry you to freedom if you follow the drinking gourd.”
Who would’ve thought that the earth is free?
Part Three
Ah-Ah-Auto-correct
Ah-Ah-Auto-synthesize
Orange fades to dark blue.
Clouds disappear like bad friends
as we de
-send.
Dark oblong omniscient oblongininity
tetrahedrous trini T.
God shaking our plane
Our plan
Our income
Rain streaks like tears on my window
pain in my heart as air sur-
rounds and rumbles around as we de-
send all my goodbye emails from heart we de-
send and escalate the scene and the white beyond compari-my
Son beyond all reason beyond blinking and lightning the white air whitening the wisps of tears And our earthly boeing is the Song of Solo-
mon with the lover enthroned and the wisps of a willow
enthralled by fog and not the endless not the sun of light but the red of blue of and green of light
and STREETlights light and I blink as night appears
through a cloud and we’re shot to the ground and un-
send all my goodbye emails from my heart and
are we ?
There—squares upon our heaven and
a highway and
a moor.
our rainy earth so demure
lanes like lanes and no more
metaphors.
That silver strip
of lit up pavement is for us
that green light means go
fast. And just before we hit,—
Charlie Fox is a native of Chicago, Illinois and a devout Roman Catholic. He began writing poetry at age eight and hasn’t stopped since. He is grateful to his mentors along the way: Jesus Christ, Professors Brandon Woods and David Marshall of the Latin School of Chicago, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams, Gerard Manley Hopkins and many others. Charlie is also grateful to NYU, Simona Blat, and the entire Dovetail team for helping edit and publish these poems. God bless you all! (visit www.charliefox.space for more info).