2424 e 38th st

if i didn’t know better
and with the rampant
dissociation of late
there is a chance that
my grasp is tentative
but driving the back way
into the airport to go
to one of the many
nondescript squat sets
of industrial parks
filled with busy people
navigating logistics
from bland buildings
that seem to suck at the
soul of a person in the
static misery of sitting
so close to the planes
yet never leaving the
concrete schism of dull
gray nothingness beneath
endless skies of blue
surrounded by fields of
yellowed grass and the
shiny chain link merrily
festooned with coils of
gleaming razor wire catching
the trash billowing in
the autumn kissed gales
feels like driving through
a demilitarized dead zone
but that has more to do
with the mindstate of an
insane nothing talking to
himself because at least
the ire i show myself is
less stinging than the
indifference in the eyes
of the faces staring down
at a fool driving around
in circles yet never quite
finding a way from the
maze as the spectre of
death lingers ever closer
and each time my feelings
are folded smaller and
smaller i feel my steps
falter as the will to
continue thrashes against
the cyclone fencing around
an airport or a battle field
indistinguishable as i
dissociate down the road

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