1 O'Clock

absentmindedly spinning my globe
its shape begins to disrobe;
land and sea blend into one hue
and country names lose their fames
as topography smears into a smooth frame.
my fingers venture across every place
that I wish I could one day face.
thoughts start to bubble beyond my lobe,
emerging within this planetary cauldron to probe;
around and around
centrifugal force abound
turns the slow mix
into a flurry of pricks
into a mauling of the walls inside
lacerations forming wide and wide
threatening to split and divide
the structure torn too weak
cracks with a loud squeak
pouring out a dreadful leak
like the piercing by a large beak
faster and faster
its flinging to the ceiling to plaster,
filling the room with complicity
far exceeding its capacity
I am submerged in this befouled kiss
by the jet’s loud hissss

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