I have flown over America in the middle of the night
I have flown over America in the middle of the night
ate endless sprawls of cities,
left left left behind the all-right
like slime mold their scintillating networks
they have consumed the voids between
long stretches of darkness
lakes of fire connected by highways
burn until the sun obscures them again
circling around my destination
a swarm of planes over the central store
trapped in the dream of flight
the children of the gods
have made a burning bubble of their home