III: Turns#
now rushing down the interstate in flight
i flee in haste a town as rudders plow
i ply the roads and tune the bass to flow
the slowing flats of blooming notes that fly
the tires gnaw the looming paths that grow
i slowly crack the window next and croon
i climb the western thinning backs of slopes
then slide through tracks of whooshing timber lines
the slumbered time of oozing treks that dive
i drive in tracts that bruise the slurried brine
i pine for pure and drowsy pacts derived
in thriving lacks each prow in turn defines
July 2025