Roadside Manner

.  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
This highway air    
is thick & bleeding.  
   
A yellow sleep  
in curt despair.  
   
Windows down  
for morning dew  
on hard thistle blue.  
   
A red flag noon    
fuming mindful ooze  
into white-hot stew.  
   
A smile so sweetly  
sang the horizon-  
miles over my head  
on a mobile bed…  
   
"oh no, child,  
THIS is the dream,  
you are still in very real danger"  
our living nightmares  
continued to breathe    
and chide  
in not so many words.  
   
Omniscient roam  
from nose to throat  
for the drip of interstate    
roaring close.  
   
Absent prayers    
count on blackened lungs    
and the hungry tears    
devouring sight.  
   
This No-Matter-What    
now old enough to know  
we should wind up bones  
on low petrol.  
   
And fuming nonsense    
to light years above.  
   
This highway wind  
is green & free.  
   
Ripped white lines  
into conceivable miles.