Via

A day in travel is a day that's wasted
And incommunicado, which is worse.
An empty day is something we've all tasted
But being isolated is a curse.
I thrive on plugging in to my own life
Which lives as much by internet and phone
As in my person. Flight cuts like a knife
Between my acts and what feels like my own
Intentions. It's a strange way to exist
Half-floating and ethereal. But I
Have no way past it, unless I have missed
A magic way to never have to fly.
But somewhere I'll find home, and when I'm there
I will not have to travel anywhere.