transit authority (in two parts)

flat top cotton plains
shadowed by wings
of silver plane
pierced from below by
fairy-tale castles white
snow made mountains
i sight i magine my flight
is not a number but
MY FLIGHT o'er this
imagined Middle Earth
between familiar earth
and outer space
for five and twenty days
this road of sky
is my home...my place
to dream
to be
to write
to read
refuse the call to do
do...do
all that London says i can...
too busy tour-guiding
those compelled the fear
of missing sights
to believe
in who
i am

and beneath
make-believe
cities in sky
i
look
down
not up
nor out
at real steel
and glass
collectives
of blues
of Hemingway
of Big Sweaty Men
and the sea-called-Lake
Michigan
i look out
at sunset
down at tops of tallest
buildings i've climbed-
-until now
i wait for darkness
for the Great Chicago Fire
of countless man-made lights
i ask "how did i get here?!"
it was the Blue-Line
train from O'Hare
it was directions
a bellman gave
it was onboard a plane
it was onboard fate
and it was
my
coming of age