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.
