And No Cigarette Smoke

You dream in an airport of a horse
violating a red canyon
by nothing more than wanton movement.
Everyone’s pride projects their own movies
onto the windows for everyone to worship,
but they’re nothing more than a kid waiting on Dad
in a parked car outside a liquor store,
or carnival rides, everything blurred, riotous,
screaming, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......”
Public spaces gone now to library voices,
all of us separated by science.
Yell ‘hello’ in this cavern, built by the city at a cost of millions,
and prepare to get arrested for, well, nobody knows.
Just get in that cell, you aware sonofabitch. 
In exhaustion, in fear, at the end of the road, the end of time,
aged by life beyond any memory of what I intended to be,
the brain starts a doomsday clock, repeating, “Hello, hello, hello,
hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello....”
counting to see if I can get to 700 before someone answers
my silence or my plane leaves dead on time. A mystery
that proves the failure of airport security
in a land beyond stock market.
One man alone.
V-v-v-v-v-v-vibrating in frequencies even Einstein
could not detect. Violin strings at play, away
from the coarse plucking of the violinist
in the Holocene Extinction,
when you move with a new mammal sense
of being here and gone.
The plane is delayed
and six businessmen head for ice cream,
six went to drink themselves to the killshot.