Flyover Country

Where the clouds have cleared the big sky
I can see grids orange-lit.
In black they burn at night
a few have winked my way.

Signals lost six miles on high but marks of hope.
Sprawling towns reach desp'rate to the next
like they reach to me towards the moon
towards some end.
Any chance to not be so alone on these plains.

Light gets smaller and further and won't
reach so far,
float like nebulae we imagine
the picture they make.

Each vision as good as the next one
must possess,
a vision out here where
I've never seen the ground I stare
forward through cabin, walls blink
blue green formica of headrest tvs.

Single lanterns pass for urban,
my night will last for everlong.

Oh, who gathered these towns,
this god's great joke
on the conquerors.
Spread 'til land's end and county line
into the hills, disperse
for wave after wave of the good
life to settle a future
that modern youth escapes.