Tuesday, July 21, 2015


There—along the scraggy purple 
highway median strips

where thick bushy tufts 
bow and swirl in wild windgusts—which

never once dared whisper a single word 
of far-
off hothouse rose bushes somewhere; there,

you feel 
you're finally free—to disavow your need to freel freedom. Because

no longer obligated 
to stay upright, to attend 
to the perpendicular; your only imperative then,

while moving—is to simply  
keep going

while always 
remaining parallel.