It reminds you
of those adolescent hobo
ways of seeing
to make meaning.
That traveling
breaks white ceilings
This year,
when the sanctuary box locks
out feeling.
That road ,
thumb stretched
out on seering trails,
of jungle crossed
with rocky modes.
I scream out of the bedroom
take that chapter out of Keroauc
Lean into the bitumen of sweat
and flies with an attack
of this disguise of bohemian pride
that hitchiked a ride
with guy contemplating suicide.
For he said in a toyota
"White collar made me today"
Contrasted to that zoom
of eucalypt past his lip
forgotten like a wisp
of mirage and radiator hiss.
In the distance
a speck of intransit resistance.
Graffiti on a sign yellin to the wedgies
"Next 2 million years'.
Another insistence
of that remarkable message that cleaves
through the cyan expanse of the sky.
That solitude of science
with the moment
send this pack ,
of my own eyes
back to words ,
and the ants of the red dirt.
