empty

convenient store bags cross

interstates like dizzy jellyfish.

flow and flip in sleazy wind.

scattering blobs flapping steel fences.

ripple in gusts like stringless kites.

wrapping telephone wires and crucifixes.

a drunken pollock left studio open.

a condom here. glass shards there.

momma cass straddles a harley.

just another switchback century

composing its unending symphony:

cue the mess we made of a world.