when the gridlock becomes too

much, I sit there, staring at

the sky - open, outer space

sugar-coated Chevelle lime

green like heavenly aura,

burns out towards starting line

riding through America,

analyzing the landscape

for natural hints of hope

shadow dwellers like magic

scatter rainbow flourishes

on all unmonitored walls

smattering of blood blossoms

outside living room window,

where television sows fear

disappear before sunrise,

manifest fresh destiny

ten states away, “as crow flies”

morning twilight promising

fresh sun for power gridlock

to be navigated by

bleak American landscape

through road-weary filter; sun

will shine long after we’re gone