via Chicago in poetry

you can’t convince me
that we’re actually flying
no not anymore
we’re just in a tube
we’re just on the floor
we teleported
from L.A. to Chicago
four hours ago
and they’re running paintings of clouds on the windows
and they’re making our feet occasionally rumble and shake
because of the nine-dollar beers
and the money they can make
it’s all a charade
covering up for the magic

we don’t land
we don’t rise
it’s a trick of the eyes
to sell bloody marys
and pretend there’s a sky
there’s money
in pretending we fly