i-35 corridor south

brooding over
a garden of
plastic flowers
lamenting the
lack of bees

the eagles hang
frozen above
the highway in
the throes of a
perpetual state
of construction

stopping off in
small towns
barely blips
on the i-35
corridor under
the merciless
sun baking the
brown flat land
between dallas
and hillsboro

everything is
just a flawed
veneer covering
static transmissions
white noise
with spaces shaped
like cartoon
hearts deflating
while trapped
between vacillating
states of
depressed dismay

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