GOT TO KEEP ON KEEPING ON: Wrote this poem on the flight back from L.A. today. A friend of mine suggests it ought to be the title poem of a collection of airplane poetry. Anyway, here it is:

Going Nowhere

Why is it
only when I am
speeding above
the earth
my life
the land, passing
between places
that I can
finally
slow down

well
enough

to hear my heart
beating to feel
my being moving to no
destination no
place no
where?

Is there more
wisdom in the answer
or the question?