One half of a crying moon sat in the June sky An uncertain state of silence that I hate A swarm of red lights from some farm device Blink fiercely with a hive like intensity Miles of metal fences leaning lazily Held together by sandbag security Could have been knocked over by a summer breeze Unplanted fields yearning to be tilled and seeded Punctuated by bare bones buildings and Stark steel structures pulsing with electricity Armies of insect swarm the tall lamp lights Highways become rocky roads Rocky roads ride out into dirt paths Then circle back to the gravel covered tracks Becoming the grey running highways Nature and industry the strongest cycle The strangest and straightest signifiers Of natureβs outliers we call humanity