No Itinerary

I look out of the window and it is mostly dark.
Lights of orange and white dot the city at night.
Cruising through the sea, I leave not a mark.
The closer are the jewels, the brighter are their light.

Lights of orange and white dot the city at night,
ever so slow the clusters of street lights shift.
The closer are the jewels, the brighter are their light;
touching the glass window, I can feel the rift.

Ever so slow the clusters of street lights shift.
Between the stars little headlights traverse,
touching the glass window. I can feel the rift
ten thousand feet below. There is the universe

between the stars. Little headlights traverse
in the milky way. I too am just moving along.
Ten thousand feet below there is the universe,
like firework, yet that does not last this long.

In the milky way, I too am just moving along,
entranced by the brilliance of prisms
like firework. Yet that does not last this long.
With nothing but a duffel bag, I dive for the chasms

entranced, by the brilliance of prisms
cruising through the sea. I leave not a mark
with nothing but a duffel bag. I dive for the chasms.
I look out of the window and it is mostly dark.


( Afterthoughts... )