My silhouette on the dark glass

is filled in with lights from my neighbors’ windows, and I can’t make out my face, but their lights are filling in and filling me up.

The amber glow in the airplane 

is fossilizing me like a bug and it’s not pretty like glinting gold chains it reminds me of an oven actually.

Static lingers on both my wrists

it’s like perfume the kind that punches you and fades away until you miss the feeling of it of a real feeling of any feeling.

On some nights I realize this is me but others are passages of my life that are hallways in between rooms. 

Tonight sitting by my dark airplane window watching myself from an aerial view I am in between people. 

From what I can see at this angle

a large portion of my torso is missing and there is a gap where my purgatorial shoulder should be and a hole there instead of my knee.

Like a surreal painting I sit

there and I watch the ocean I presume is below me but the light doesn’t reach the black waters so it’s too dark to know.

My frontal lobe is a jigsaw

the part that makes me me is different puzzles stuck in a liquid, amoeboid shape, the shape of a country where only I live.

In the air, and on the glass 

I am in between me.