So Many Roads

Back cramped sitting fetal
the flats and pudding hills
salts and death, sagebrush and sun
on our backs we continue
across the Mormon paradise

“God, could you imagine
just living out here!”
she said as I thought about
being beaten
by the sun all day and
no shadows in sight

Why when only alone
can I cease to be my own?

M&M’s took the brown color out
few years later
Eminem came out the spout shoutin’
I think about him
and the concepts of sin
government projects to prohibit
and inhibit not just speech
never knowing how close to the crease
cuff down to the online casino blackjack sleeve
cuff to cuff down around the knees
never again expected to utter a please

how can there be so many roads
it seems there’s one road
for every person in America
some straight some crooked
some pavement some gravel
some with more signs than others
some with readable lines
some with but barely a few trotters
consistent old friends
and others like interstate dates
rushing rushing rushing
some expand across the continents
some never leave home

This entry was posted in A Year In the Ideal, by G. Collins Lankford, Books and Collections and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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