the Art of Abandoning Cars
No union, in the oblique stares.
The mouths, agape.
No common touch.
In what means so little.
Poetic license without a qualified driver.
Careening down distances so far.
Scenic byways filled with the liquidation of potholes
artsy, abandoned, cars.
So what of these passing,
gazes and glares?
As if the, purposefully, pretend, onlookers, were to say,
‘Do you not get it?’
all these aimless journeys lead me to…
Surprising what some sustainable souls can do?
Where tires tread cannot be cast.