Red Eye (Conventional Self)

The counter change ahead from many air - miles made, there is no tomorrow only the light and shade ; descending from above the landing lights look strange, my astral empathy is ever out of range and if I really am invisible as air, the stamp is ignorant the passport doesn’t care ; to satisfy custom with that which isn’t there I’m always in the green with nothing to declare : I mirror back my face - cold water to ennui and wonder why I have this false identity.