To see this highway,
And a vision beyond it
Beside it  .. running along like threads that hold the keep  
Dirt roads that come to the middle and end  
A front door open ,
And shut a thousand times and holding its secrets still..    
  
In my rear view ,  
And front.  
A haze of dust collected there  
  
My eyes are wide against rest.  
A yellow line will spin out hours ahead of me before they find comfort and closure against a pillow  
  
.And the moon and stars make work of my imagination.  
Residuals and lasting impressions dust my dreams.
  
Scorched coffee  (pause)
Sugared bites,  
And the road I travelled ,  
  
Well economies.    
  
Not glimpses into the usual, or typical  
Exactly,...  
but glances towards an American Gothic.  
    
Perhaps even the Abraham of the streets
  
(Long thoughtful pause and deep pull of a Redbull)

Would I stoop to consider these,
Remove myself from self titled Shaman of the Netherlands  ...
and dive deeeep into the Delta.

Musky scent of both decay and renewal,
Let it be heady.
Let it fly fast into downed windows through fingertips extended and waving through the wind.

Learn  by feeling and leaving  ...
experience.
But no intent on living there.