Plane Lands On My Room's Wall Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

My room is a lake of ripples
spinning me in its circles,
as I roll in stroking hands over
thin films and gliding filaments
of me spread out to unknown edges.

It's been numbing quiet,
my room wrapped up in a far-flung
world, where scented roses

breathe out a sedative wind
with a bird's preened wings
brushing me in my cloak of without-me.

Stroking the shell
I cannot hear enclosing me
with pollen to grow my without-me

into a blindfolded voyage,
soft-lipped waves
shifting me to the dungeon of without-me,

burying me in its basement,
from which I jumped over myself
into an abyss,

but a click and a buzz
from a cellphone
that had hidden itself
in a gorge hugging tight furniture

slam down the ax that
cuts off the stamen of my flower-world,
tossing me back onshore.

(ii)

Out of a storm of sleep
locking up cornea and conjunctiva,
a beige wall flips
its legs down its cliff,

a straight slab planting its feet
into the rugged floor.

The wavy sea of my room
Expands into a high wave,

a staircase pile
of small cartons
curving its back into splashes
of old memo stubs.

(iii)

Through the window an aircraft
flies over the waves
of my room to land on the wall's strip
and taxies down

As it flaps its wings down
its narrow path
antenna and proboscis its beacons.

Its power plant and landing gear
remote-controlled
by the a bowl of schema
in the animal's head
steering it to a stop,
its thorax the only wheels:

Come on, brown butterfly,
fly out of my room
in the same way as you hopped
and dived in for a smooth landing.