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Cockpit Voice Recorder

Poet: Germain Canon

The engines died

The city went quiet, collapsing

behind a million curtains

smothering every sound


Inside for weeks

I can't feel the floor drop

I drop along in thick atmosphere

howling round the edges of the bedroom

as it glides down the curve

at unknown airspeed

Under the sheets I breathe

and listen to the pilots last words

from cockpit voice recordings

I found online and play

in repeat


"Which way are we flying?"

"I don't know"

"I have no idea which way is up"

"I don't know either"

"Upside down?"

The rain crackles on the windowpanes

at increasing pace, the joints in the wall creak

under sudden changes of pressure

We must watch the state of the air between us

Mom and Dad say, their voices cut

through their computer microphone

I was never one for hugs anyway

but I touched Dad's hand once

and it was warm

and that is a fact.


"This cannot be happening"

"But what is happening?"


Every time the audio track stops

right when the ground hit

But I have to know what to say

when flying blind without feeling the stall

because everything around falls together

in impalpable gravity.

Germain Canon was born in Belgium in 1989, where he studied painting and architecture. After working in Brussels, he moved to Taipei in 2014, where he works as a visual artist and architect. He is part of the Taipei Poetry Collective, and  uses writing as a narrative and poetic framework for his practice

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