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