Not Frequent Enough
Jak Cardini

A thing and its bookbag
board a plane

which is really just

a weird kind of bed

(beneath them,
a building fire
produces

a rising cloud of office supplies
now struggling
to coalate the sky)

(the fusel lodge
is not as exclusive as it sounds)

soon they are above

so many different
toll roads

((The cloud begins separating blue things from dark blue things))

all xeroscaped
and soaked in quarters

a weird kind of flying bed.

(asleep they think of
Buckminster Fuller

playing

seven card stud

on the Aires 1

and he's going all in

on

Matthew Day Jackson)

The freshest water

is served slowly

by flight attendants

even when they are at home

in their weird kind of flying beds that they could never fall out of

(back in
the subspace of their hallway,

crooked rows

of family portraits
are traded

through the meiosis
of moving out)

((of your empty bedroom
just before it
depressurizes))

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