5007. I'M IN MY COCKPIT AGAIN

I'M IN MY COCKPIT AGAIN 

This necessary inquisition takes its favor from 

having no grounds to be heeded. I'm in my

cockpit again and strapped in  -  going nowhere

fast and taking orders from some jumbled nerve 

on a radiophone from some faraway place below.

As if each word has a shadow, all I hear is noise

and interference. 'What is that you say, I cannot hear?'

-

Where in my consciousness, Lord, do you dwell? 

Where in it do you make your home? In what part

of it do you dwell, but where in it do I as well??

-

Nothing comes over these wires : a large, long absence,

a journey where no one has been for a very long time  -  

that evanescent silence between things and their meaning,

or objects and their form. I want to be an artist forevermore,

delineating this world with an outsize pencil kept sharp.

-

I once had accolades; I was once knighted. I once has an

Oscar presented to me, a grand price of squalid, low people,

squealing and clapping and yelling and barking  -  back and

back and back at me. Lord, Lord, where do I dwell?

Lord, Lord, take me home once more.