I’m traveling into the great North,
as seen through the bug-splattered mosaic.
Horizons endless, our youth boundless like the road,
either side recalls vast Americana plains—
we are the concrete beaten path into oblivion.
Swallowed whole by desolation,
life humidly hovers in this metal car box;
spaceship braves this drive of passage.
Rites of road time exploration,
epiphany eyes take it all in ravenously;
a momentary heaven of perception.
I miss that road, South Dakota bound,
reveling in the innocent exploration;
boisterous naivety in the brand new discovery—
the road still sings my name.
No comments:
Post a Comment