Monday, April 21, 2014

Just rolling through

Busily, hastily I carve country air
Between the far-flung foci of my life
My car a cocoon hustling me there
Over the obtrusive space and trife

Past old townships, silos, factories
“Local color” outgrown by progress
Veiled from traffic lest they spark inquiries
Whence did these places’ lifeblood regress?

Frequent pit stops, rare destinations they
Strangers just rolling through begrudge supply
The hollowed heartland a making away
To greater scales greasing mammon thereby

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