Minutes lie by a pool
in the Wisconsin Dells;
a day sings country-and-western
karaoke at a Motel Six
between the swells
of Pennsylvania.
The sun, middle-aged,
creeps across the sky,
opening its arms toward
even flatter earth.
Soon rain will impel
the illusion
to seek its own across
County Trunk Highways.
For now, only light bends along
them. Bugs are too slow.
You are
the current.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment