The various segments in flying on a commercial airline involve a systemic narrowing; from the world-at large to airport concourse, security queues, gate corridors, boarding ramps and, finally, that sub-middling aisle to the smaller squeeze of a slender and assigned seat.

By the time one is strapped in, all spacial identity is reduced to a minimalist construct. Ironically, it is then far too late to flee; take to ones heels, as it were, in flight.

THE FLIGHTING SPIRIT

Flying is something
For which one pays
For which one fares
Out of pocket
Out of time
Out of mindless mercy
Forfeiting privacy
For privilege

Flighting, on the other wing,
Is free
An idea, a dream
Pinch of imagination
Something upon which
To travel…

A box of paints
A stick in the sand, a sonata
A book, river, tuft of wind
Feather and cloud-shape
A reason to lift
The flighting spirit

A destination
Arbitrary at minimum
Pointless at best

Starting out
Is anyone’s guess

© jameshoustonarts 2025