Open up, highway. Let me
bloom, the night blooming cyrus;
let up on this traffic
weaving in and out of lanes
hating the breaks and the
no-pass-on-right rule
my left front blinker on the fritz
a pool of water collected
inside the head lamp
just below the bulb itself
(How does a flower live
with so much water?). Oh, day
don't begin yet. I will reach
the suburbs like an ink stain
a perfectly good button down shirt
in about fifteen minutes,
before the storm reaches the car.
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