Distance enthralls flight patterns
as seen by controllers, who intersect from the outskirts
of perspective or depth, simply flagged to avert
further catastrophe. But they packed the black box
and now it’s up to high altitude intersections.
Varied heights refresh to show current position
to the earthbound.
Dumbed down flight lines as seen on tv
are for those who need more time to care, are busy
in dense nexts, all the better without care
It’s the lapped map that’s causing distance
confusion down here; from here to there,
to there, consequent stops and starts,
and unavoidable tolls, alas; with all cares in the trunk
or strapped to the roof, lengthy stops now unlikely—
never mind tempted interests and bodily
longings, from here, to there.
Be aware of anticipatory hunger, the convenient
store with scripted scenario, permission to eat
empty, the feeble road markers that count backward
from yet an unknown end.
Caution the list of sights to miss that unknown to you
beckon forever from hidden valleys or lit mesa tops
beyond well placed arrows and stands.
It’s only in passing
that a life loses context,
passing between points before landing
unceremonied, far from any source.