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 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
Tags: A Year In the Ideal, by G. Collins Lankford, books, G. Collins Lankford
