Under a cloud of serpent plume, under the kaput dome of starlink-probed ink black night sky, a jet did ride and glide, insistent.
Speed of sound resounds in boom, spew from serpent’s lipless smile, a minute a mile, minute against eternity, willful.
The childish pilot impetuous, pedal to the metal, thunder road of trackless “off road”, dark no roads, inroads to eroding glad to be going, going
Risking life and limb of fang and forked tongue, top gun boyish malicious grin, takes none of it in, resistant.
Spam of Human Affection 
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