Poetry

Hey everyone,

Today's poem is an absurdist, nightmarish stream of consciousness piece that mixes dreams and reality with themes of being trapped, anxiety, and fear of authority. 

It's called premium economy and you can trade it here. Follow the thread for the poem itself in plain text, and Grok's analysis of it. 

Hope you like it!

Hey everyone,

Today's poem is an absurdist, nightmarish stream of consciousness piece that mixes dreams and reality with themes of being trapped, anxiety, and fear of authority. 

It's called premium economy and you can trade it here. Follow the thread for the poem itself in plain text, and Grok's analysis of it. 

Hope you like it!

https://zora.co/coin/base:0x57267cd0de0324eb22e2f93a1095cb9ea5a0c4ee

There is nothing more powerful in this world than words.

The poem is a darkly humorous exploration of anxiety, where the mundane irritations of air travel (in-flight purchases, authority figures) are transformed into a surreal nightmare. The vivid imagery and shifting dream-reality boundary create a disorienting effect, reflecting the speaker’s psychological turmoil. The stewardess, both in dream and reality, embodies the inescapable pressures of modern life, exaggerated into a monstrous caricature. The poem’s humor lies in its absurdity—being chased for peanuts is laughably trivial—yet its visceral imagery and lingering unease suggest deeper fears about judgment, obligation, and loss of control.

An overwhelming desire to puke riding up inside me
Disorientated. 
I grab the arm rest of my seat.
And inadvertently someone else's hand 
who pulls it away with a hey I ignore 
As I see her coming towards me and freeze
A fistful of scratch cards in each hand
That same air stewardess
Waddling towards me down the aisle. 
Are you alright she says 
as she nestles into the air space above my seat
To run a fat tongue over dry lips. 
A look like she wants to devour me. 
I can hardly breathe.
You look like you've seen a ghost.

I'm being chased by an air stewardess with a giant serpentine tongue
Across the bridge in Indiana Jones and the temple of doom
Because I haven't paid for a packed of dry roasted peanuts
And a beefeater miniature
And just as she traps me against the wall
To carve out my heart
With two inch crimson red nails
Her Ryanair uniform ghastly as it glows in the balmy mid afternoon sun 
Her tongue edging towards my eyeball
Like a harpoon.
I wake up sweaty
And reach quickly for my chest
To feel my heart beating at a thousand miles an hour
My lips gummed up
My mouth dry

(contd)