The black ribbon licks
through towering mountains
and deep succulent valleys
rushing past rows and rows
of cornfields and crevices
reaching into strange places
'honey salted'- ecstasies
to lips ripe and ready
at the top end of town
welcoming.

The same road  rips around
comes or goes
whichever takes your fancy.Anyone get it

NO STOPPING

for miles and miles
even to saunter off
and picnic with passersby

strangers stare
with secretive glances
as we pass each other on the four laned
handshake
to know that we
once took this road
to somewhere.

Author Notes
Anyone get it? Would be nice to know.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago