This year cut the trails and treks to the power lines.

Dusted motorways for service men and truck wheels

with habits of trespass by mudbikes and grid-captured explorers.

Sneakaway lovers misunderstood due to the still ripening. And

lacking days weighed upon the forehead, temples.

We joined them.

The dirt bedded river. Towering stalks, lightening catchers.

Buzzing...

electric or the locus?

Wires, threads, stretching and connecting.

The nervous system of communities.

Us in the synapse.

Trading words for smoke.

Thought for thought.

Honey for grape.

Routine for the new.

And sasquatch lives in Texas. Certainly the Pacific Northwest.

Sounds of hell were heard in punctured earth in Japan.

They've teleported molecules and use hovercrafts for warfare.

Soon, instead of airports they'll be teleports and

I'll see ya in a few.

Imagine an arm sprouted from midback after the molecules reassemble.

Art Bell is a desert crab, preaching over Mohave airways.

Our ears were thoughtful and cared more about the stars then.

Treason behavior.

Talk of the anti-existing.

Talking non-talk.

We were boys making poets.

Found rest behind 4-door sedans.

Laughter in between the fences.

The flash at the 30 mile per hour limit.

Never a mile more.

Traffic lights blink red after 2 a.m.

Beasts compete with christmas lights.

House, tree, mailbox, house, tree, mailbox. house,

Fought with throats on the front lines,

arm in arm

Now only with our own two arms.

We now leave the cages unhopped,

the properties untreaded.

Serve and commit thoughts grateful.