Thursday, August 8, 2013


Airport lounges everywhere are full of pilots sleeping.

Cold logic tells us why.

The pilot must prepare the craft.

Alone, it takes an hour, sometimes more.

With help perhaps a little less.

Flight plan, manifest, takeoff and landing distance.


Fuel and bags, a crouch to see the fire bottle gauge.

But also coffee, ice, amenities, snacks.

Perhaps the potty service, too.

And then the flight itself.

For many, there are two, one to bring the craft to
the customers, the other to bring the customers to
their task.

(The better landing always happens first.)

Before most folks arise the pilot works for hours.

While some see fate the hunter, others see fatigue.

In its grasp, essence conversion is too slow.

Ideas do not arise in time, calculations become missed.

In its grasp, the muscles move without finesse.

Sleep itself becomes a form of essence.