Full Flight Poem Rhyme Scheme

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I'm in a plane that will not be flown into a building	A
It's a SAAB seats has two engines with propellers	B
is why I think of beanies those hats that would spin	C
a young head into the clouds The plane is red and loud	D
inside like it must be loud in the heart red like fire	E
and fire engines and the woman two seats up and to the right	F
resembles one of the widows I saw on TV after the Towers	B
came down It's her hair that I recognize the fecundity of it	G
and the color and its obedience to an ideal the shape	H
it was asked several hours ago to hold and has held a kind	I
of wave that begins at the forehead and repeats with slight	F
variations all the way to the tips as if she were water	E
and a pebble had been continuously dropped into the mouth	J
of her existence We are eighteen thousand feet over America	K
People are typing at their laps blowing across the fog of coffee	L
sleeping with their heads on the windows on the pattern	M
of green fields and brown fields streams and gas stations	N
and swimming pools blue dots of aquamarine that suggest	O
we've domesticated the mirage We had to kill someone	P
I believe when the metal bones burned and the top	Q
fell through the bottom and a cloud made of dust and memos	R
and skin muscled across Manhattan I remember feeling	A
I could finally touch a rifle that some murders	B
are an illumination of ethics that they act as a word	S
a motion the brain requires for which there is	T
no syllable no breath The moment the planes had stopped	U
when we were afraid of the sky there was a pause	V
when we could have been perfectly American	P
could have spent infinity dollars and thrown a million	P
bodies at finding the few lasering our revenge	W
into a kind of love the blood hunger kept exact	X
and more convincing for its precision an expression	P
of our belief that proximity is never the measure of guilt	Y
We've lived in the sky again for some years and today	Z
on my lap these pictures from Iraq naked bodies	A2
stacked into a pyramid of ha ha and the articles	B2
about broomsticks up the ass and the limbs of children	P
turned into stubble we are punch drunk and getting even	C
with the sand with the map with oil with ourselves	C2
I think listening to the guys behind me There's a problem	D2
in Alpena with an inventory control system some switches	E2
are being counted twice switches for what I don't know	F2
switches of humor of faith but the men are musical	G2
in their jargon both likely born in New Delhi	L
and probably Americans now which is what the flesh	H2
of this country has been a grafted pulse an inventory	L
of the world and just as the idea of embrace	I2
moves chemically into my blood and I'm warmed	J2
as if I've just taken a drink a voice announces	T
we've begun our descent and then I sense the falling	A

Bob Hicok

Full Flight Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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