the pilot's lament

a zeppelin pilot missing the freedom of a hot air balloon

they trapped me
in copper and iron,
where the air was kept away
by a mesh of cogs
and everpresent noise—

can you hear it?
the constant hum of engines
ticking their clockwork song
everywhere.
can you feel it?
dials and gears
grinding their teeth,
droning through metal walls
until my teeth ache in empathy,
grease and coal dust
catching at the back of my throat.
it masks the clean taste
of clouds.

I want to smell only fire
lifting me up,
without the feel of a clock’s
outstretched hands
ticking time out of existence,
or wind rushing
into my eyes.
I should move with the wind
with the storm,
riding the lightning
not forcing it to my bidding.

I’m trapped.
my heart beats
the cadence of a piston,
my lungs breathe
the rhythm of a bellows,
my fingers dance,
attacking the universe
with the turn of a dial.

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