Like Pray’rs in Jim’s America’s Accuse – Sonnet Twenty-Four

As music slowly bleeds through garbled tech,
Of driver/rider automation’s code,
Sir Elton and his Bennie’s Jets inflect,
And Mary J’s “The Hardest Word” implode.

Grey hope in foggy smarm, no coffee’s flail
Or dope’s slow slog, day’s light or mercy save.
The open road, a game displayed wholesale,
A destination lost in life’s deprave.

Once holding sun, that road, in traffic kills,
That held the promised hope of sea to sea,
In blinding crawls that any hoping stills,
Arrives at places no one wants to be.

So, sing those lines of LA/Roadhouse Blues
Like pray’rs in Jim’s America’s accuse!