The title borrows the language of phone maps and tracking, the technology that tells you exactly where you are. The poem then undercuts it. The speaker doesn't seem to know where they are in any deeper sense. They ask, almost offhandedly, "how is the world / and what and where / these days," as if the basic facts of life have slipped out of reach.
The second stanza is built on tidy contradictions: "gone without going," "found and not finding." Something has left without anyone leaving, and something has been located without anyone looking. The final phrase, "me in my unbed," is the oddest and most telling. Judging by the word, the speaker may be awake, restless, or cut off from rest and comfort, in a bed that no longer feels like one.
The mood is quiet, disoriented, and a little lonely. Nothing is shouted. The short lines and missing punctuation make it feel like a thought drifting through a sleepless mind.