Landers

Categorically speaking
The last word out of my mouth is cushion on which it all lands
I see caution on the wires above the car
Toon towns, bushes
Metaphysically speaking
I received a reading through my tablet
Pray for rain
For I’ve grown weary of these small tin cups and balms for sale on the roadside

We had pulled over and were enjoying soda
A beverage bound by laws older than man to poison most ordinary life on earth
I looked over at grand grey tree, warped like a length of dough
Twisted into a sure sign of the vortex

In a state of grief, trying to cling to my purchase on the horizon
Painted in just at the bottom corner and nearly cresting
Beyond the woolish smog and bespoke sneakers and a caterwaulish scream
As manna from long before explodes into a throng of metal bugs

I swore I would uphold some kind of truth in my time
About what I would consider sacred
And I am considering now the possibility that I am air escaping from a cave
Next to a dirty highway