In Free Flight Poem by Dmitry Garanin

That night on the plane, as usual,
I was struck by a burst of inspiration.
Rhythms were pulsating in my head,
becoming verse meters.
Words interlocked with their facets
forming something new and mysterious,
sparkling with new colors.
Love poetry was followed by surrealism,
surrealism turned into absurdism,
absurdism became zaum,
and zaum gave way to philosophical lyric.
I could hardly keep up writing all this down
drumming on my iPad with my unskilled fingers.
Petals of rhymes fell off,
baring turgid berries of meaning.
Iambs and trochees disappeared
yielding to free verse.
Lines were cracking with an abundance of ideas,
rare in lyric poetry.
The spoken word died away,
pushed aside by ratiocinations
culminating in succinct formulas
at the very core of our being.

My victorious endeavors were supported by my spouse,
sitting in the next seat,
from whom, as from a muse,
streams of creative energy were flowing towards me.
I was reading each masterpiece aloud to her,
and she was nodding approvingly
in noise-canceling earphones.

New York,13 March 2016