the West

long highways made of sky i hear no cars
no wind just that hollow industrious hum.
roads linked in circuit, tight enough to strum
stretch out my hand they’re much too far apart
or i’m too small. i observe this fearless race
their life of singleness and contrived smells
smooth sinless skin on each fair sylph-like face.
it’s everywhere. just what, i cannot tell
a sense of not-home, alien? i don’t know…
of simply looking nature in the eye
instead of kneeling? humans may comply
but Nature she has her own way to go.

i wonder as i think about these things
would i give up this highway, or these wings?


By Noodle
31st January, 2010