Two sleeping pills float like buoys in my stomach.
I wait for them to dissolve.
I see nothing, I hear everything
(I am Homer, I am the blind poet)
The plane itself must be suspended on a line of latitude.
I straddle the noise.
I used to hunger for a handful of cloud
to hold, to taste . . .
I wait, strapped into steel.
I orbit the cosmos
I dissolve into a time zone.