After spending much of the time in Kansas adding entry after entry, I've been using my time here in Florida for job preparations and other such matters.

However, I'm coming back. To prove it: A poem. This was written as I traveled back to Tampa from Wichita. It deals with some issues that other might find kind of gross.

I think that's what interests me about them,

Passengers

The man sits
Inside the cramped airplane seat.
He spits into a plastic cup
He covers with his jacket.
Drops of brown
Spot his lips.

Across the aisle
A man with silver hair
Holds a paper napkin to his mouth.
He closes his eyes,
Rocks back and forth.
Soft gurgles come
From behind the napkin.

Signs of death surround me

On this flight,
Bodies dry
Into husks.
They rattle
In the seats
Like sand
On a snare drum.

The vessels overflow
With the watery residue of men.