Poetry

Greystone highways,
scenic byways.

Caught between William Blake’s 
Songs of Innocence,

and Sun Ra’s 
Sounds of Dissonance.

The hills are gold tonight,
under the blood 
of setting sun,

as curtains draw
upon Phaeton’s 
fallen star. 

Imagination? 

Car hums,
world spins.

Tired eyes 
see signs 

of 
Applebees,
Holiday inn.

Glimpses of what is,
what could be.

No resolution,
just other horizons.