To Minnesota

Waiting to mount my plane,
stretching to identify the essence of the Minnesotan, the axioms,
the look
       the demeanor
    the smell
  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
    forgetful places
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
                                          for ever
never say never
Never!

We are currently #2 for takeoff.
Flight attendants: brace yourselves!
                             embrace yourselves!
                                    pace 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.
How bizarre--
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
       to shine,
       to live.
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.
Utter. Hospitality.
And not the Viking kind, either,
     the
           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
      kind.
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.