plane full of geese

i end up on a flight with only geese. 
feathers in the aisles. i do not remember
where i am coming from or going. lately i feel
like a monopoly piece. some big finger
pushing me towards the holy "go." 
the geese ignore me. there is no wifi
so the world narrows. i wonder why 
they have chosen not to fly themselves. 
instead, gobbling up trail mix from 
little plastic cups. i never want the vessel 
to land. i want to become a piece of the sky.
if i gave a cloud all my water, would
i still be able to think? to write poems?
i have learned to shrink my list of necessities.
i used to need lungs. i used to need
a tablespoon of cream. my bank account
overdrafts again. i don't check it 
but i can feel it. i wonder where the geese
keep their money. maybe there is a pond
somewhere in an ugly ill-maintained park
where there are thousands beneath 
any given stone. the geese treasure right 
beneath our noses. i have stopped wanting
any of that. i want to open the window.
feel the wild air. the next flight i take
is a flight of only clouds. they do not speak
at all but they shift. the aisles go grey. 
thunder all over the ground. i evaporate.
join them in spitting myself up.
throwing lightning from my guts. 
when the plane lands i am home or else
it is my home now. my phone is emptied
of contacts. nothing but geese. i buy
a coffin from the airport gift shop.
set the phone at the throat of a half-dead fern
near the entrance. hope there is another flight.
any flight. a house in the sky. somewhere
with a television or at least a mirror.
somewhere for me to look & see
how i turned out. it is better to keep 
whatever self you manage to have in
a safekeeping place. beneath a stone in a park 
with the centipedes & the geese fortune.