ICE SHELF (02- Flying in cloud theory)

By | 1 February 2016


Any altitude not found in the set
Of altitudes of the world. A gap in the mountain as cloud
As mirage in the cold desert glittering
Pages of travel magazines. Peacetime sweep. To input correct
Errors into a twelve-&-a-half-thousand foot
Computer system of air, called data collapse. That logged
Some twenty-thousand Novembers before I
Crash directly into the paper
-white path. There was no training given for
Disintegration. Just networking. Fuselage meet skin
& white slopes of Mt Erebus & wrecking
Slopes of economic/statistical power laws. We get
A prototype for snow. Tender
Predecessor of hyperexcited
Tissue on impact. This recycling this lifecycle. No.
Just the right amount of widespread order
To keep disorder, balanced at critical;—enough
Little hourglass tumbles every so
Often to stave off the really big downward tails. So flight left
With tickets for empty seats. Business as usual. Aluminium burning
Warship on the side of a volcano in the Antarctic. The only game
In town.

It was usual for no survivors to be seen
Camping in wing wreckage—quick to assemble wind
& guywire piles of snowy sand.
The orchestrated remains are meticulous
In their record keeping;—tissue immaculately detailed no matter
What dusty vapour or drenching fire isolated it.
In the language of thermodynamics Information survives
Like cockcroaches crawl through nuclear war like static is always
Seething . . . Fuselage of human grease turns
The little water of this dry ice earth black. Meat stew
Of polar clothing, and gulls help at identifying corpses
When radar lets them down
—lowers macabre iron cargo nets to remove the human element.
Unfazed. A crash site whipped up in no time (in parentheses)
Always already prepared earlier . . . suitable for the uncertain.
The pedestal more famous than
The person—the ice as good
As ignoring all search-&-rescue efforts.

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