Let me know what you think of the audio recording. I’ll probably do this more often. Don’t forget to BUY MY BOOK whence this poem came.
airport #3 in my dreams i'm still in jfk airport, waiting in long lines and being yelled at by little napoleonic fucks who let the slightest bit of power overtake their humanity. in the end i am not the king of anything. i am another schmuck with a fever, breathing my unwashed breath into my mask, with hungry eyes and a heart with a genetic expiration date. it's always 6am here and i am always almost late for my flight. i make the flight and sweat and cough for four hours, with the plane aloft on curses alone.
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