Country Roads...

PART I

haze alfalfa green
velvet shapes of brown
fence-post grey
and the time-travel blue
of the back-roads sky...

remind me of the fruitopia girls
in their braided cosmosaic vision
of a world united by internet communication
and techno-paisley fashion

country roads... country roads...

so little I’ve left behind...
so little I’ve left behind...



PART II

The ways the tree-green clumps shiver,
Scribble through the scissor-hew slopes,
The ways the geometries, fence lines,
Wire blacks cross into less randomness,
And how the zoomed-blue sky glues together
The insane masses of popped overflow cloud;

Can make the corners bend smooth,
And the lips of hills level,
The polyester sponge of each body remain
In their cushioned muscle;

And the clean vacuumed inhale
Of the controlled invisible air,
Can let the right thoughts mix
With the speaker sounds and far-off pokes of view,
On this sedan ride through the forward mesh...

The ride which always lets you arrive:
A little too early before you are ready,
Or way too late when you can barely wait,
Or just as the conversation keeps along;

But today it is a little of all three,
So it doesn’t matter which...


Remind me of the glowstick festival girls,
Who in the blank-grey moments of dawn
Awake with dull clouded eyes,
In bodies of soft rain-breezes and lake-waves,
Laid fuzzed and smushed over
The tent floor of polymer stasis,
Parched together with their friends,
In an unmoved weightless touch
Of empty arms and legs...

Who in a shared circulation of rhythm,
Must continue another day against their normal habits,
Into another slopped-on night of offerings and decisions,

Taking gradually safe portions of ecstasy,
Finally the first entrance they have found
That doesn’t lose them in the connection of memories,
That lets them play a household with the guessed-at mixtures,
Allowing the right hints and moments of holding,
Huddled close for the blush-cheek digital camera-shot
Of eternal destiny...


Remind me of the twisted wreckage of metal
In the dry-weed yellow-dead ditches,
The sparkle of lights in the daylight
Of emergency response vehicles,
Dispatched by the sober adult world
To the accident, the mistake of chemistry,
The dread inevitable of synthetic symmetry
Tearing ruinous channels through the moist fiber
Of the natural sprawl...

Remind me of how I once continued eternity
For my generation after their great prom night,
By retreating into the foul-twisted stems,
Under an afternoon armageddon sunlight;

How I was tested and learned not to be changed
In my mind by the recent evidences of the senses,
Scaring and delaying the transition
Of my being from liquid into sky;

How I should return to this sure Power,
If only I could break out of the glassed-in travel
Down these country roads that always exists,
That are the connections to everything...

Country Roads... Country Roads…

So much more I have to face.
So much more I must conquer.