Waiting to mount my plane,
stretching to identify the essence of the Minnesotan, the axioms,
the oh dontcha knowisms
the geographic centrality manifested in the corner of the mouth
or possibly in the shoulder as it meets the neck.
Airport terminals are
Neither here nor there
Runway sized gaps between
past and future
you and me
men and women
come and come again.
I always forget where I am,
when eating the crepe at THE airport,
For there is really only one
and it is in thousands of cities
small tall grande venti
all at once
and once and for all.
Sanfranfrisko, that's where I yam
that's where I was
that's where I will be again.
But not forever never
never say never
We are currently #2 for takeoff.
Flight attendants: brace yourselves!
because it's gonna be a bumpy
ride and those passengers are thirsty
little peanut suckers aren't they.
Out the porthole
it's cloudy and I can't see shit.
Closer to the stars but
further from the bars.
I wanna flap my wingadings but I
haven't got any,
just these fingery appendages and they're
not even webbed.
A star piddles on the horizon,
twinkles a bit,
clearly not so sure of itself.
It worries about burning out before it
can finish burning in.
A few billion years, such a brief amount of time
But bitches need that stardust for
blings and rings and things
so sing until the singing's done
that's what I say.
It's all you can do, and
you gotta do what's gotta be done.
That magic word always works,
there you goo!
says the bona fide Minnesotan attendante.
And not the Viking kind, either,
have my finest mead because
I'll probably kill you tomorrow
with my double sided axe
kind, but rather the
holy smokes the world is a
super place so let's be friends
The embrace of Minneapolis,
so politely forc'd!
The smile of the Minnesotan,
like staring into the sun
after spending a week
in a cave.
Sometimes love hurts, and sometimes it burns.