Country never felt like home to me.
Kansas open road stretches –
for forever, these empty badlands,
and you screaming next to me out an open patch
of freedom
through the blocked air of my sunroof,
letting your soul run free in the gun slate
of the elastic sky.
Acidic gas station coffee lingers on your lips,
a stained kiss for the magnetic sunset,
while Colorado mountains crest the distant horizon.
Country never felt like home to me,
before roads, before skyscrapers,
before my love of the city,
there was just land, just these mountains.
Country never felt like home to me.
Maybe that’s why I feel so free.