Full sun to fog
All things suddenly
Close as morning breath.
The biosphere becomes apparent,
Surrounding our soft shells.
Dropping off the payload in Ohio,
Strawberries and chocolate
On the otherside.
Ghost of your grandfather,
Captain of a cream colored LeSabre,
Carves his ship through the countryside.
"Stay In Lane" does not address him.
He completely disregards such directives
And sashshays across the lines.
He's always been the one
To plot his own course.
Heading straight through the heart
Land elongated, fluffy
White pancakes --
Flapjack stacks.
And, the parrot speaks of Misery/Missouri.
As we swing beneath the arc,
Hours spent immersed in
Atmospheric drama of the mid-Western sky.
Stretched between the rumble strip
And punchin' it.
A floppy eared cumilo nimbus
Reflecting roadside hazards.
The trail turns purple
Towards twilight.
Dusty ridgelines receede,
Still lamenting time travel,
It's never enough speed.
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