west on highway 6
along
fresh-mown road ditches where wild
goldenrod fields pierce cardamon daydreams
to
the
thrum-thrum of tires on crappy pavement baked in midwestern sun at 91 degrees
these dog days of summer will likely head-butt
into a near morning's early frost
silvering threads of conversation & memories
buried six inches & 12 months deep in soil
the color
of
coffee grounds
& honeyed cigar smoke
thrum-thrum
sunflower towers catch dragonflies & remorse
petaled mile-markers randomly blown from Orion's belt
what design do they illuminate
what trail of illusion
where does regret lie
thrum-thrum
it smells
of
green
this ageless september day
thrum-thrum
