the chains in the back of the truck jangled like church bells, i was lost in reverie the road blurring by around me not seeing a single bit of it though, drifting in between ideas of stories untold kisses unkissed watching as the hawk circled above me the ground showing the effects of the storm that woke me at four in the morning the on ramps blocked, spun out green trucks flashing red and blue lights is the fireman block off all engines to the only artery out of the city taking The long way towards an even longer way skipping the well navigated roads for long strings and numbers with an f and an m attached to them

it’s a different pace of life out here, not a bad one, not necessarily, quiet so many little communities you never think about driving through the squalor of the inner city only to see a different kind of squalor in the middle of nowhere

i forget just how big the sky is when it’s not crowded with giant edifices to commerce no glass spire scratching the pure azure nothing on the horizon except for clumps of vertency the occasional flashing signal tower nothing except rolling hills gentle curves lulling you beneath this translucency

i know that the sky is just air, except for the clouds there’s nothing, just an invisible ball wrapped around the planet a perfect rain recycling center yet you couldn’t convince me that this isn’t a hollow blue marble, my mind knows that, rationality tells you trapped at war with the dying daydreamer as the miles tick on and on and on, physics gets stretchy mental gymnastics become a full-fledged routine amongst minefields and poisonous cobra striking every tentative step

passing ranches and cattle the world’s so alive filled with so many wonders yet i feel so alone

it isn’t until the row upon row of bright neon orange barrels slowly eat away at a lane as i approach the next small town that i remember that i’m a part of something, apart from everything, but still semi-connected to the opaque web shimmering with the billion souls

been on autopilot so long the glaring red light was a surprise for a moment i forgot what i was supposed to do, i slammed on the brakes and the water bottle shot off of the seat like a torpedo, felt a little part of me collapsed a bit as nature faded away, sure there’s a manicure golf course to my right, is that nature, carefully cut, clipped, little cart paths 18 meaningless holes, budgeted motels lining the sides of the roads

do they have hookers and small towns, is the prostitution game big out here, does everybody know her or him, is it awkward to go to church on Sunday and she sits on a pew alone yet every man in the congregation knows her intimately, every woman glares at her

golden arches, sky blue of walmart, that’s the connective tissue, that’s what holds this country together, what have we become

i envy the gazebos, so many of them out here, overgrown backyards, weathered gazebos, forlorn, no cookouts, no smiling children swinging on the banister, just walmarts in mcdonald’s, pre-packaged, nutrient deficient food, tractor supply companies, nail salons, it’s also unnatural, artificial, i wonder if there’s really been that many advances in medical sciences ir if we have just learned how to preserve the dead in such a way that they remain mobile, pickle them and keep them upright

a red brick church stands sadly, gutted by fire, a big blue sign proclaimknf city park, more a sad collection of picnic tables on an empty lot, a few more empty buildings and then suddenly the green blossoms again and i can’t help but feel as if i just skimmed across the pus coated surface of an open necronic wound

there are so many dark orange flowers growing on the sides of the road that the green grass looks tiger striped or smeared with blood, some great beast bled all along the sides of the two lanes creating an optical illusion

i wonder what’s out in the trees, great swaths of half naked trees, jutting skeletal fingers beckon ne to pull onto the shoulder, take off my clothes just wander, you could lose yourself out here, i wonder how long it would take before anybody noticed i was gone, days i imagine, how far can i make it on foot, i doubt i have the survival skills to live, i don’t know that i have the will, could i rip van winkle myself against some tree, wake up in a hundred years, wod there even be a world left in a hundred years, would i wake to find myself, a blanket of ash coating my skin, seeking rag tag bands of human survivors roaming the wilds

lost on 180 headed west, rambling to myself as breckenridge calls